Shattered
by Corvid Angel
Summary: Norman Bates may have been declared sane, released from the hospital-- even readmiited, re-released and married, but in his right mind? Struggling with past demons, can he survive the present? Maybe he's the only one who is sane!
1. Chapter 1

Shattered

Chapter 1

Nine months was an awfully long time, especially when full of nightmares.

He had done his best to keep up the acceptable front of a man actually looking forward to fatherhood. No one suspected otherwise--- particularly his wife, who should have known better.

'_If she really ever loved me, this would have never happened._'

Living with a doctor, and having had years of treatment from their kind, it was only natural for Norman Bates to have picked up a few tricks. Apparently, he had learned well; the façade held, and no one imagined how the man inside might be suffering. Or perhaps they just didn't care to know?

'_Why am I the one who has to compromise? If she wasn't so damn selfish-- if she hadn't lied---'_

He was always pleasant and smiled whenever he spoke about the up-coming birth. He was attentive to his wife's needs and took on even more of the household responsibilities as her term progressed--- he even took to sleeping on the couch to avoid disturbing her, he said. As far as Connie and friends were concerned, Norman was the perfect doting husband and loving father-to-be.

As far as Norman was concerned, he was living a lie with a stranger he did not-- could not-- love.

It was eating away at him, but he had resolved to let her have her way. She could have her all important baby, but from the moment that decision was made, she would no longer have him.

'_How could she do this? How could she lie-- just to trick me into fathering her child??'_

During those nine months he had privately thought it out. His doctor wife, with her biological clock ticking away, found a suitable victim in a vulnerable patient she found physically appealing. She had seduced him with words and kindness-- the worse sort of lies. She preyed on his weaknesses under the guise of 'rehabilitation' and like a lamb to slaughter, Norman walked happily down the last mile. It was alright for awhile-- he even loved her and their new married life. Then she pulled the rug from under him, robbed him of every hope, all his trust-- just so she could get pregnant.

'_We talked about it-- it was settled-- she agreed to it before we were married-- No kids! She knew-- and then she used me anyway and thought she could convince me---'_

Inside he seethed, struggling to remain calm and nod in agreement while she selected wallpaper for the nursery, or placed orders for cribs and highchairs. Not once did he object, or even state an opinion. If it was what Connie wanted for her baby, then she would get it.

Nine months was a long time to continue the charade, but continue he did. It proved enough time to plan a disappearance.

He would keep his own counsel, confide in no one and-- yes-- lie when he had to, to escape an even bigger falsehood.

The answer came to him finally, when he returned to the motel.

It was when Connie was three months along, still not showing, and continuing her regular routine of going to work, even taking extra hours when available. Norman had been tinkering on the laptop she'd got him for his last birthday.

That was when the truth came out, and he foolishly thought that burning the past would clear it all away. But after the smoke cleared, Connie was still pregnant, and a new nightmare begun.

He didn't care much for the wonders of technology, but he discovered one could do a lot of research on limitless subjects, without getting off the couch. A computer could prove an invaluable resource.

He stared at the screen, tempted to type in a name he had not heard or thought of in years. Why did that come to mind just then?

Before he knew it, he was leaving the house, and driving to Fairvale. His boyhood home, the site of past crimes and personal horrors-- the house had burned, the motel fallen to ruin-- much like his dreams.

A cloud of dust surrounded the car as he came to a halt in front of the motel office. For a brief moment he imagined what it would take to bring the business back to life. That was how his mind was working these days-- scattered ideas and momentary diversions to drag him from the pain of current reality. A few coats of paint, cable TV, maybe some kitchenettes? It was a passing thought, extinguished by the sound of an open cabin door bumping on the breeze. He studied the collapsing porch roof, the graffiti, the broken sun chairs, wondering how much had been stolen or vandalized, taken as morbid souvenirs by the locals?

Norman's life wasn't much different than his motel. It was started with best intentions, and fell victim to its own imperfections. A relic of the past, now broken, useless, lonely and completely unloved. He slid from the driver's side and stood, squinting against the sunlight at the bones of his family home, sticking stark and charred black against the cloudless sky.

He would not climb those stairs again. He would never return to that cemetery of memories. It had been intentionally torched, the demons put to rest-- but no one had ever warned him that life would be worse once in his right mind.

He stepped up onto the office porch, peering through the boards meant to obscure the windows. The panes were broken and dirty, and what he could see of the rooms beyond were just as depressing. Most of the furnishings had been removed years ago, and a layer of dirt and dust seemed to had settled everywhere. One or two keys still dangled from their pegs, a haunting reminder that this had once been a business, after all.

There was nothing to be gained by staring into so hollow and bleak a memory.

Stepping back, Norman saw the cardboard notices, posted by the sheriff's office. Stapled up on the doors and cabins down the length of the porch, they warned the casual visitor that the premises were condemned, deemed unsafe for habitation, and scheduled for demolition. Trespassers were in danger of arrest and prosecution.

There was perhaps a time when the notion of the place being condemned and demolished would have filled him with dread, even panic. Now, it seemed the only fitting end for the Bates Motel--- and perhaps the man who had once cared for it for so long.

Norman moved without thinking to the door of cabin one. It was partially opened, but wouldn't budge until he pushed hard against it with his shoulder. An overturned bed-table had landed against it, requiring the extra effort. He stood motionless on the threshold for a moment, studying the ruin that his own troubled brain had ultimately caused.

Floral wallpaper dangled in strands and strips from the plasterboard, and the scent of mold tainted the air. Across the room, the window had been broken, and tattered curtains danced in on the breeze, from a dislodged curtain rod. An old mattress lay in a corner, and there was evidence that the place might have been used by partying teens. Someone had spray painted one wall with red, but Norman did not notice.

Instead, he saw the summer sun spilling through the lace sheers, the room clean and perfect for the motel's grand opening. He saw the Audubon prints on the wall, smelt the flowers growing out back, felt the softness of the new carpet under his feet. It was a wonderful new bright beginning, at a time when the family was happy and very wonder of life lay ahead of him.

He crossed the room without realizing it, stepping into the bathroom where the toilet had been removed. Loose tiles littered the floor and cracked under his feet as he stepped to the tub. He turned the handle and the faucet spit out air and brown water. Full of rust from pipes, the water spurt and belched, but eventually flowed clear.

He stepped back into the bedroom and almost mechanically began loosening his clothes. Standing, he pulled off both shoes, then socks, and set them beside the mattress. As he undressed, he laid his clothing on the mattress as neatly as if it had been his own bed. His mother would have been proud of the care he took .

He returned to the bathtub, as if being drawn by some unseen force. The broken tiles cut his feet, but he was oblivious to this. He flipped the lever to start the shower, and stepped into the cool spray.

Norman turned his face up toward the showerhead and began to sob. Hot tears mixed with the cold uncaring rush of water, to be carried-- worthless-- down the drain, with twisting red tendrils from bleeding feet. He had burnt away the past-- was it possible to wash away the present pain?

Wracked with despair, he could no longer stand, and crouched to the bottom of the tub. There he sat in the hard cold torrents, hugging his legs and howling in his private misery.


	2. Chapter 2

Shattered 2

The water eventually stopped.

It rushed almost violently at first-- then it slowed, spurt, trickled and ran out. The cistern was cracked, and had finally emptied. When it splashed into the tub, it washed the plaster dust and bits of debris to the drain, which clogged and filled the tub to seven or eight inches. Norman remained immobile in its cool unkind embrace, as ragged little bits of paper and plaster floated around him like pieces of the past, in cast off and meaningless fragments.

The showerhead dripped slowly, ticking off the passing minutes like a clock.

He was spent, with all his tears cried out. Curled on his side, Norman leaned against the edge of the tub and stared across the floor. He studied the black hole where the plumbing had been ripped out and carted off, not even moved to wonder why someone would steal a toilet. Little things caught his attention; they kept him from thinking of the bigger things-- the blacker holes he would have to confront when the distractions ran out.

There were crushed bits of tile, scraps of paper, a piece of yellowed advertising, an old leather work glove-- souvenirs of passing time and the people who had come and gone.

_Nothing begins, nothing ends. It just 'is'._

His eyes traced the baseboard around the room. The sun streaming through the window made bright splashes of light look awkward against such despair.

What would happen now? He had been declared sane, with no direction on what to do with this new 'condition'. He had tried to forget the unpleasant shadows of his past, tried to love, trust and live what could be called a normal life. Now he was beaten at 'their' game and betrayed.

Sanity was no great gift; it was as much a curse as anything that had gone before.

Survey of the floor revealed more dust, more tiles, and there, in the corner under the sink, a spot of dirty red caught his eye. It was the color of dried blood.

Cold fear gripped him.

He almost saw-- almost recalled a dark unholy thing that was not his doing, but had happened in this very room. He pushed this notion off, but did not look away and instead leaned slightly forward for a better view.

It was not a dry spot of blood-- it was square and regular. Rust? He forced himself to focus.

It was an old razor blade, forgotten and discarded as thoughtlessly as all the other trash.

_Can't you do anything right, boy?? _The voice was not his own. It was an old woman's voice-- HER voice-- echoing in his head. _What will people think? You can't even clean the rooms! All you have to do is make sure every thing is clean, the bed linens are changed, floors swept and mopped-- and you leave something like that lying around in the corner???_

He closed eyes with a shake of his head; it was just the recollection of her voice-- she wasn't there. She was dead, and that part of him that had been surrendered for her was dead as well. It was just a memory of the way she used to berate him…..

_For once, it isn't my fault._

The idea almost made him smirk. He had nothing to do with the current condition of the place-- that responsibility was over years ago. Still he stared at the blade, seeing it now more as a friend than an accusation. He leaned over the edge of the tub.

The rusted steel beckoned like a key. Why else would it be there? It could end his pain, end the crushing burden of life, and open the door to a place where sanity or lack of it no longer mattered. It could unlock the way to peace.

It was not an object of condemnation-- it was perhaps salvation.

He stood as if in a trance. Water dripped from him with little tinkling sounds he did not notice. One foot, then the other was lifted out and onto the floor. Crossing to the corner, he crouched to fish the blade out of the dust and debris. He lifted it, to examine like a rare jewel. Not much an edge left-- maybe it would clean off on the sink?

When he stood to rub it against the cracked white basin, a shard of broken mirror caught his attention, propped and angled behind the faucet. His reflection looked back at him with wide frightened eyes. He was shocked at the image and what he had become.

The blade fell into the sink with a slight 'tink'.

Nothing. Then a birdsong.

Another distraction, coming from the bedroom window. He listened for a moment, and then he found himself standing in the sunlight. The breeze felt cool against wet, naked flesh, as he looked through the broken window frame.

The countryside was not as green and lush as he remembered it. It was no longer young and new, as it was when seen through the eyes of a little boy. The hills were still there, parched in places, and not as large as they had appeared to the eyes of a ten year old.

He looked closer and watched the landscape grow green. He saw the flower garden in full bloom, saw the willow tree standing tall with its long leafy tendrils flowing gracefully on the air. Then he saw two children-- a little boy and girl running across the open space toward the tree, laughing and chattering as carefree as magpies.

_I remember. Yes, I remember._

That name, long forgotten, returned to him, having been buried under troubled years of a haunted life. It had led to this place and time. The same name that came to him earlier in the day for no other reason but perhaps to drag him back, to the one truly innocent and joyful moment before the darkness.

Laney.

_Laney what? Kirkpatrick? Kilpatrick?_

The children were under the willow now, on the other side and out of sight. The gentle laughter echoed and then faded. The scene changed again, the green of spring dissolved into brown winter, and the willow tree, blasted by lightning unknown years before, lay slumped and rotting against the earth.

Norman braced his hands against the window frame, pressing forward as if willing the happy scene to return-- for the fields and hills to remain bright, and life to be hopeful once more.

_Take me with you, for God's sake-- take me, too!_

The landscape refused to co-operate, and so it was left to him to fill the blanks.

Laney-- whatever her name was-- came to the motel one summer with her family. Her father, or uncle, or someone, was involved in some property or business around Fairvale-- Norman was surprised he could remember that much even though it was sparse. It was decided that the family should enjoy a little vacation at the same time, and so the Bates Motel became their home for awhile. Granted, it provided few notable amenities and Fairvale was hardly a tourist attraction--- but to two lonely children, and one unforgettable summer, it was magic.

Slowly, a smile crept to the corners of his lips.

He stood there, his skin dotted with wet particles of plaster, looking out from one ruin to another, and suddenly laughing. He was immediately possessed with an urge to revisit that willow, and see if the rest of his memories were reliable.

Norman slid back into his jeans, punching his arms through the sleeves of his shirt as he ran out the cabin door. Shirttails flying in his wake, he hurried around the side of the office to the fallen willow out back, full of expectation.

He pressed his ear to the splintered trunk and closing his eyes, swore he could once more hear the childhood conversation.

"We'll bury it here, like I read about in the papers."

"A time jar?"

"No, a time _capsule_, silly! Then we'll dig it up a hundred years from now!"

"Why?" Laney's blue eyes blinked in wonder.

"Well…..that's what they do! I don't know why…."

He dug the hole with a garden trowel, safely out of sight of the motel, the house and adult population. She was holding on to the jar like it was gold. Inside were photos, and notes, and a few trinkets, and….what else didn't come to mind right away.

But now he was within inches of finding out.

Norman pushed away from the broken trunk and knelt at the willow's base, where the roots twisted above and below the earth. A quick look around-- lining up the house there, the motel, over there-- the positioning was exact. Then, barefoot and bare-chested, he dug his fingers into the dirt with the childlike eagerness. After a few moments, success.

_Ridiculous. It's just an old mayonnaise jar!_

More precious than rubies, to a pair of innocents-- and a disillusioned outcast of a man.

NowNormansat with his back against the willow stump, brushing the dirt from the glass. The contents, barely visible through the cloudy surface, rattled and shifted as he examined it. Without thinking, he twisted the cap to loosen it, but it was so corroded with rust that it broke in his grip. Most of the edge stayed screwed around the neck, while the rest crumbled in his hand. After so long a time, what else could one expect?

No matter-- the contents were the important part, and no less than a clear and perfect sign that all was not forever lost.


	3. Chapter 3

Shattered 3

It was nothing short of revelation. From deepest despair came the desperately needed epiphany.

He returned to Cabin One with the jar, and lay on his stomach to spill the contents out onto the mattress. He eagerly picked through the marbles, read the notes, studied the photographs--- all there and unchanged after 40 years. This was evidence that there had been a happier time, however naïve and long ago. The final piece made him smile more broadly than the rest.

A mismatched pair of socks. One was his, the other Laney's, folded together as if an actual pair and belonged that way-- her idea, tough he doubted she got in as much trouble as she did for 'losing' a sock. He laid them out and sighed as a slender hope, indistinct and frail, filled his thoughts.

_Mother is dead. Because of her, others are dead, too. And now Connie is dead to me. Maybe even Laney, by now. But not me._

There was hope.

From the moment he returned home that afternoon, he nurtured and explored that hope. For the next six months, he kept his thoughts private. The contents of the jar were carefully moved to an inconspicuous cardboard box, tucked into the back of a desk drawer. Connie was much too busy with her own things to suspect anything was seriously wrong, or that there was any reason to rummage through her husband's private things.

Meanwhile, there was plenty for Norman to think about, and to do.

Gradually, things took shape. He obtained a post office box in his name, and later established a personal bank account that Connie need never know about. There was that parcel of land to sell off, with the motel ruins and house. Something else to be kept from his 'wife'.

_I'll need a lawyer, eventually. One who can dissolve a marriage for….. irreconcilable differences._

He was surprised to find enjoyment in the intrigue. Perhaps it was the realization that he was no longer the victim, used by over-bearing women. Women who lied in the name of love to get what they wanted.

He would not kill Connie, though the notion was appealing to consider from time to time. That sort of end would be very unpleasant, but no less than she deserved for her crime, in his estimation. It would be completely justified, and would give him a great deal of satisfaction. Even a certain amount of peace.

No.

Connie would have the distinction of bearing a child whose existence he would never acknowledge. They would both be cut from his life, but this time without a knife. He would not fall prey to her influence again, even if it was forcing his hand to murder.

_They'll never lock me up again-- no hospitals, no prisons-- and especially not because of what she's done._

He had long months to consider the options, thinking it was time to strike out alone, to live whatever was left of life on his terms.

He was never really fond of lying, but in this particular case it eventually turned into something almost exquisite.

"Norman?"

Connie stood in the doorway behind him, calling him for the third time.

He clicked the remote through a few more channels before answering.

"What?"

"Norman, your dinner's getting cold." There was that annoying whine in her tone, meant to be persuasive.

"In a minute." His reply was abrupt and cool. He continued to click the remote until something suitably mind-numbing drew his attention. Connie crossed her arms and slowly wandered toward the couch.

"Norman, what's wrong?" That whine was beginning to grate on him.

"Nothing's wrong. What makes you think anything's wrong?"

She was near enough now for him to see her from the corner of his eye. She had rested her arms on the swell of her belly, but Norman turned his head away to keep it out of sight.

"For one thing you're being so distant today."

With a sigh she took the remote from his hand and turned off the television. He was forced to look at her now with an accusing glare.

"We hardly see each other these days, with work. You shut yourself up in your study every night, and play games on that computer of yours."

"I'm not playing games."

"Supper's the only chance I get to see you. And tonight we're having pot roast."

Norman plucked the control from her hand, turned on the television, and went back to clicking.

"I'm not hungry right now. Go on and eat without me, I'll have something later."

She wouldn't press the point, and retreated without another word. She could allow these occasional moods-- he was probably just feeling neglected with all the attention she gave to the pregnancy. He couldn't still be doubting, could he?

She sat at the table, glancing at his empty chair. Perhaps she could tempt him to a better mood later with his favorite dessert? For the time being, he could sit in front of the TV and lose himself for few hours with the History Channel and detective shows. He would come around and be himself again in no time.

She should know her husband, after all. She knew him before they married, including all the evils of his past--- evils committed against him as well as those done by his hand, through no fault of his own. She knew the risks, and the rewards. She was a psychologist, the best in her field, they said. She believed she knew him better than anyone else ever could. He would be alright.

Connie was certain she had convinced him that his fears were unfounded. She had won him over to accepting that their child would be a blessing, and have a normal, well-adjusted life. He was usually happy and supportive-- he was 'hers'. It would not do any good to dwell on any unpleasant thoughts, in her condition. They would talk later and everything would settle back to normal.

It was late. Connie had gone to bed with a soft good night wished from the living room door. After awhile, Norman ventured into the kitchen and made up a plate for himself. He was just finishing when Connie reappeared in her robe.

"What's wrong?" he asked over the rim of his glass of milk. There was always the possibility that something might go wrong with a pregnancy.

"It's lonely in there." she smiled. "I miss having you in bed."

Norman's chair groaned across the floor as he got up to scrape off his plate.

"We've already discussed that, Connie." He tried to sound sympathetic for appearances sake. "It's best for you and the baby if I sleep on the couch. You know how restless I get."

"You hardly ever have nightmares anymore."

"And who knows when I might have one again? Last thing you need is to have someone flailing against your… against you."

Truth was, he felt he was living a nightmare. And restless sleep or not, he had decided long ago he'd never share her bed again. Connie walked to the fridge and took out two cups of chocolate pudding.

"I made it just the way you like it." She smiled as she passed him. "With crushed walnuts."

She took two spoons from the drawer and sat at the table, fully expecting Norman to join her. He stood for a moment, arms stiff at his side, flexing his hands into fists over and over when she wasn't looking.

"Don't you want to hear about work today?"

_Not really._

With a sigh, he took his place, and devoted full attention and appetite to dessert.

"What about work?"

"Melanie Grover is getting married."

"Who's Melanie Grover?"

"You remember. The chubby little nurse with the buck teeth?" She seemed to find it funny, and giggled. "She's engaged to some man who owns a computer business." Norman had never liked the way she talked about people. He could only imagine what she'd said about him over time.

"Pudding's delicious."

Connie frowned. There was obviously something on his mind.

"Norman, what's the matter? Whatever it is, we can talk about it."

_Just like we talked about NOT having children? I should waste my time talking so you could ignore what I say? It's a little late to be understanding. No, we can't talk about it._

He sighed and looked up from his cup with a forced smile.

"Everything's fine, Connie. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep much last night, that's all."

"It's that couch."

"It was the cabbage. Really, Connie. What could possibly be wrong?"

"It's going to be alright, Norman. You know it will." That cloying tone again, made even worse now by her reaching for and taking his hand. "You'll see."

"Yes, I know. It's all going to be fine." He slid his hand free and stood up with the empty cup. "I better get these dishes done before I turn in." He had managed to keep the phony smile on his face until he turned away. "You should get back to bed. You're sleeping for two now."

He ran the water and was starting on the dishes when Connie came up behind him.

"Oh Norman, I worry about you sometimes."

She snaked her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. Norman froze, hands immersed in soapy water, slightly sickened by her touch and the feel of her swollen belly pressing against him.

"Connie. Not now."

She giggled and started fussing with the buckle of his belt.

"Remember how it was after we first got married? We couldn't leave each other alone. We spent weekends in bed."

He leaned forward, pressing his hips against the counter, and making it impossible for her to loosen his clothing further.

"Go to bed, Connie." His voice was cold and firm.

"Norman! You're hurting my hands!"

"Go to bed!"

Connie managed to pull her hands free and staggered back.

"Alright, Norman," she agreed sheepishly. "Alright. Good night."

"Good night!"

She hurried away, half convinced that the trouble was his fear of hurting the baby in the course of 'romance' . They hadn't had sex in months, ever since the news of her condition was confirmed. As a first time father he was worried that making love would somehow be dangerous to a delicate condition--- but hadn't she explained to him that it wasn't the case? Connie believed that her husband's reluctance towards intimacy was due to those foolish misgivings.

Norman waited until he heard her steps retreat and the latch on the bedroom door close. Slowly he withdrew his hands from the water, staring at the white soap bubbles turning pink from blood. The milk glass had broken in his grip, and he hadn't even noticed.


	4. Chapter 4

Shattered 4

The next morning, things were different.

Norman got up early and was already puttering around the kitchen, making breakfast for the woman who still considered herself his wife. He was afraid he'd shown some true feelings the night before, and maybe it planted the idea in Connie's head that something was seriously wrong. It would take some slick acting and sacrifice, but he would make sure that by the time she left for work, she'd have little doubt of his devotion.

"Norman? What are you up to?" Connie seemed a bit dazed to find him working in the kitchen-- but pleased, nonetheless.

"I wanted to apologize for last night." He smirked like a bad little boy, caught in an act of mischief. "I thought some pancakes and sausages, hot coffee and some fresh fruit might make up for it."

It smelled delicious and Connie was glad that 'morning sickness' had not been part of her routine. She walked to the counter and took up a plate.

"Here, I can do that."

"No, no, no!" He eased her away with a gentle hand and raised his spatula demonstratively. "Go sit down. Breakfast is served!"

She was positively glowing, assured that everything was back to its pleasant daily routine. She took her place at the table, noticing the fresh daisy in the bud vase. Norman brought the plates, laden with hot food, and set them on opposite sides of the table. He poured the coffee, set out the maple syrup, butter and milk, and finally took a seat across from her. Only then did she notice the bandages on his hands.

"Norman-- what happened?" Her smile disappeared, replaced with a look of concern.

"A glass broke in the sink. Nothing to worry about-- now dig in while it's still hot." He seemed full of energy and good spirits, slathering butter and syrup on a stack of hot cakes.

"Let me see. You might need stitches."

"Don't be silly-- I've had worse." He excused her worries good naturedly with a little laugh_. Lots of blood, but it wasn't half as bad as when Mary Loomis----_ "Make sure you make a note of everything you need on the grocery list, I'm going shopping today."

Connie was pleasantly surprised. She hadn't seen him quite this buoyant in some time, and the injuries to his hands were almost forgotten. They chatted idly as they ate, as happily married couples often do.

"You know, I haven't had the chance to tell you--" she mentioned casually. "Jason Petrie has been paroled."

Norman sipped his coffee and nodded. He remembered the name, and after a moment, remembered the man. He had been under Connie's care at the hospital, after being involved in a series of homicides. The jury was still out on the subject of the man's sanity. Norman met him while a patient, and even now squirmed uneasily in his seat to recall the fellow who looked every bit the handsome young college student he was not.

"How did they manage that?" he sniffed and took another bite of breakfast.

"I'd like to say it was all my doing." she teased. "And that the man is genuinely cured of delusions and instability. I think it was more elaborate wheeling and dealing, and some legal slight-of-hand."

"Too bad. There are some people who should never get out."

_That's the way they felt about me…..the way I felt._

"Anyway, that was about a week ago. It slipped my mind to mention it. He's been released to his brother's care."

"Let's hope we don't hear that name again, in the news or otherwise." Norman took a swallow of coffee as he looked up at the clock. "You'd better get showered and dressed, or you'll be late."

She tried her best seductive look on him.

"It wouldn't be the end of the world. I remember how you used to make me late for work on a regular basis."

"Well, we've got something bigger to think about now, than just our unbridled passions." He started gathering his plates in an effort to keep at a distance from those thoughts. "And I know you say it's alright to have sex throughout your….term. But be patient. This is all new to me. A little scary, too." _More than a little. Not to mention I'm disgusted with the idea of touching you. Traitor. _"I'll make you up a lunch with the pot roast and potatoes, and if you're a good girl, I'll even pack some cookies."

He managed to keep up the façade, smiling, and joking as he cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink.

"Norman, I love you!"

He leaned back on the counter and crossed his arms with a smirk.

"Of course you do. Now get moving!"

She hurried off like a newlywed, while Norman watched. Suddenly he spun around and gripped the counter edge, feeling a bit dizzy.

_It doesn't matter, just keep calm. It's for your benefit as much as hers. Mustn't give the slightest hint---_

When Connie reappeared, she was dressed and ready to leave. Norman walked her to the door and handed her the lunch he had promised.

"You've got some extra fruit in there. Make sure you eat it." He opened the door to see her off. "And remember what the doctor said. Easy on the caffeine."

"Yes, mother!"

Before he could reply, Connie leaned up and kissed him full on the lips. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth before he could resist. He bumped back against the open door and finally eased her away.

"See you tonight." he winked.

She was off and down the steps, happily on her way before Norman could lose his peaceful veneer. He waved as he watched the car pull from the driveway, and then gasped as he fell back against the door. He felt violated, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Suddenly he turned and rushed for the bathroom. His stomach was lurching, and he had to make it to the toilet before breakfast resurfaced.

How long could he keep the pretense up?

Norman lay down on the couch, a damp cloth over forehead and eyes, trying to think.

It was getting harder to play the role, to smile and sound happy, pretending nothing was wrong. The more time passed-- the more the new life in Connie grew-- the more Norman felt he was being crushed. He had refused from the start to believe the creature was human or any of his responsibility. He couldn't afford to think of it like the toddlers in their strollers he saw whenever he was out in public. Those little angels were born happy and healthy, of good parents-- or so he was convinced. As far as he was concerned, his life was playing out like a horror film-- like the Omen, and Connie was carrying some spawn from hell.

_That thinking will only lead to trouble. Once a person is convinced of evil, they have no choice but to step in and stop it. I'm the only one who knows the truth. It would be my duty. No-- I can't keep thinking that way. The world won't care to know it was spared from another Norman Bates-- they'd just see a psychopath who murdered a pregnant woman._

He rolled onto his side as if a change in position would alter his thinking as well. It would be more productive to look on the positive side. It seemed, as time passed, that positive side had a name.

Laney Kirkpatrick. Her name was next to his, on one of their notes.

The memory of that summer, and the little girl who had made it possible, had been the catalyst. Digging up the jar, reading the notes, recalling when a lonely boy still had a chance to make something of life-- that had planted the seed of hope that drove him to survive. He would get away from the nightmare, run away like a kid if he had to-- those silly little trinkets did more to fuel a purpose than anything else he'd known since leaving the hospital. Those childish gifts were not based on deceit, lies, or selfishness.

He went to the drawer that held the box of their 'souvenirs', and sitting cross-legged on the floor, he picked through them again.

_Is it possible she's still alive? Would she even remember me?_


	5. Chapter 5

Shattered 5

It would be a new project, to wile away an afternoon.

As promised, Norman did the week's shopping. Like the obedient fool his wife expected him to be, he got everything on the list-- and then some. He spent a little extra to buy a few of her favorite things-- the indulgences she had gone without to save up for things the 'new arrival' would need. He found her favorite ice cream, the gourmet frozen dinners, imported cheeses, even some bubble bath-- small, silly things, really, but enough to bribe his way into Connie's confidence a little longer. He'd even make dinner later.

The clerks at the grocery store-- those that knew him by sight-- naturally cornered him for a few moments. 'How was everything going?' -- the usual causal banter meant to convey friendly interest while disguising the true intent of getting some good gossip. Norman smiled and answered just as politely, all good and positive things, and perhaps disappointed them in their quest for dirt. He returned home, put away the groceries like a good little spouse, and then turned his attention to his computer.

The answering machine was blinking, and out of habit he decided to play back the messages before getting to work. There were four calls in all-- two strange, voiceless ones-- no words but there were street or office sounds in the background. Wrong numbers, no doubt. There was one for the wife, confirming an appointment with a hairdresser tomorrow, and then one from Connie.

"Hello, darling! I guess you're out at the store, so that's good-- you won't have a chance to argue. I've made reservations for us tonight at La Belle, at 7 pm. You can meet me there, I'm getting a dinner break-- I'm sorry, sweetie, but I have to do a second shift tonight, Marie called out. So I'll see you then! Love you!"

Norman stared at the floor as he sat on the edge of the couch. At least he didn't have to worry about what to make for dinner. But La Belle? She always called it 'their place'-- a trendy little restaurant on the lake, miles from anywhere and yet always doing a brisk business. That was the site of their first 'official' date, and already it was stirring up memories he'd like to forget.

The way they laughed and how the candlelight made everything so 'romantic'-- how he had too much to drink and ended up in the backseat. How he didn't complain when she kissed him and loosened his clothes--

_What a stupid sorry fool! I actually believed she loved me. Me! And made me believe I was in love, too. I fell like a ton of bricks. Nothing is as ugly as the truth, when you're happy to live the lie._

He'd meet her at La Belle, even bring her a rose like he did the first time-- _Two can play at that game._ She'd see it as a charming, romantic evening, celebrating their love. He'd see it as their 'last official date'. La Belle marked the start of this whole mess-- why not mark the end, as well?

He was quick to forget the unpleasantness, when he finally sat at his laptop. There was research to do.

Laney Kirkpatrick was alive.

Scrolling through page after page, he pieced together the years that had transpired since their summer together. Some of it was found in her husband's obituary.

She had married a man named O'Donnell, whose job brought them to the east coast. He died of cancer ten years ago, and Laney O'Donnell was now a successful author. Looking her up by her married name, he found an impressive list of children's and young adult books she had written. With an excitement he had not felt in years, he scribbled down the names so he could look them up at the library or the bookstore. Time got away from him, and he kept searching, finding articles about book signings and an entire page on her publisher's website, devoted to Laney's life and work. There was even an magazine interview!

The phone rang. It was Connie.

"Hello, hot stuff." she purred when he picked up. "I'm just leaving the hospital now." He glanced at his watch-- it was 6:30. "You got my message, didn't you?"

"I was just heading out the door." he lied.

"Good-- can't wait to see you!"

"I'm on the way."

No sooner had he set down the receiver than he ran to find a clean shirt. He splashed some water on his face, shut down the computer, and shoved the scribbled booklist into his pocket before leaving. There was hardly any time to pick up a rose, but he managed. He was intent on giving dinner his best performance.

_It's only an hour or two at the most. I can manage that._

Unfortunately, the evening would end up demanding more of him than planned.

Connie was already seated at their table when he arrived. It was the table in the far left corner, the same one they had occupied on their first visit. She was thrilled to accept the rose, but could not resist a little frown when he sat down.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he took up a menu.

"Did you even shave today?" she teased.

He had, that morning, but looked down embarrassed that he might have left the house too quickly.

"Of course, first thing, like everyday." he mumbled. "What looks good tonight?"

"You." She was smirking over the edge of her water glass, but he pretended not to hear or notice.

It was easy enough to carry on a conversation about their food, and the day's doings. The topics changed easily, as neither brought up anything urgent or pressing. Norman mentioned the people he'd run into at the market, Connie made suggestions about events they might attend in the up-coming weeks. The meal was delicious, and between the subjects of home and work they were able to enjoy a comfortable chat. Unintentionally, Norman had a little too much to drink; by the time they left, he was hardly aware that she was holding his hand.

"Walk me to my car?" she sighed.

He agreed with a nod, and she went on for a bit as they walked, about doing the night shift.

"Where did you park?" It seemed like rather a long walk to him. She nodded to the space furthest in lot, under some trees and well removed from the other vehicles. "Connie! I could drive you there just as easily."

"We can both use the exercise." she teased. "Besides, running up and down the hospital halls doesn't get me much fresh air."

"Well, in your condition, you shouldn't wear yourself out."

"Fine. You can do all the housework then."

_I thought I already did._

It wasn't until they were in the shadows under the trees that Norman suspected anything was wrong. Instead of reaching for her keys, Connie slid her hand across his stomach, and down to his groin.

"Connie!" Norman slipped backward in surprise, ending up against the car. "What are you doing??"

"Oh, come on Norman." She leaned up and kissed his neck, rubbing him through his jeans. "No one can see us."

He gasped in surprise, feeling his body respond against his will to this attention. He put his hands against her shoulders, intending to push her away. Instead, he felt his knees weakening and the wine making him dizzy.

"Connie! Stop that!" he whispered urgently, afraid of being overheard.

"What? This?"

She had already loosened his belt and was unzipping his pants. Weakly, Norman grabbed for the waistband in protest. Her hand dove under cotton briefs and took firm hold of him. He groaned and tried to move away, but the sensation of fingers-- even hers-- wrapped around him was too intense.

"No…." He was breathless, and starting to slide down the side of the car to the gravel lot. "We can't--- don't-- please, Connie--"

She opened the back door and guided him in. Norman fell back, lying on the seat, covering his face with both hands.

_No, no, no!_

It was too late. She had freed the object of her desire from his clothing, and lavished it with kisses and eager strokes. He wanted to kick his way free, scramble to safety, but his rational mind lost the battle. Her lips surrounded him, and once again Connie got her way.

Norman punched the seat backs with angry fists, his eyes clenched and his body stiffened. He was a prisoner of this fleeting moment of carnal indulgence-- taken by force-- hating his human frailty as much as he craved release. In a moment, the struggle ended. He cried out, in tortured anguish.

And, a moment later, he was left weak and panting, while Connie was fixing her make up in the front seat.

"Thank you for the rose." she whispered.

Norman was mortified.

He felt like something dirty and vile, left half naked in the back seat. He struggled to pull himself up, and get properly dressed. Then he climbed from the car without a word. Connie smiled smugly, as if he should have been glad for the attention, and promised she would be home in the morning.

"Do you want a ride to your car?"

Norman stood, arms wrapped around his lean body, and shook his head no. With another tender word or two meant to be reassuring, she drove off.

Anger swelled inside him, choked with a horrible remorse. His own body had surrendered him to the enemy!! He had been assaulted-- tantamount to rape-- and he had lacked the strength or the resolve to fight back. He had _let_ her take him! He hated himself, and once more felt the bile rise in his throat. Bracing his hand against a tree, he bent forward and vomited.

Tears welled in his dark eyes. He had been the victim again. He walked unsteadily back across the lot, to where he had parked earlier, when he was innocent of the trap that lay ahead. Headlights of departing and arriving cars washed over him as he made his way. Instinctively he turned his face away from their light, afraid to be seen at all-- as if the rest of the world knew of his shame. When a small party of revellers met laughing by the restaurant door, he was convinced they were laughing at him.

Norman unlocked the door and slid into the car, hanging his head in defeat. He gripped the wheel, knuckles white with tension and rocked back and forth, hitting his head on the wheel over and over. Tears ran hot down his face.

_Can't stay here, can't stay here-- someone will see._

Norman's hands trembled as he tried to fit the key into the ignition. The lake was temptingly close. It wouldn't take much to drive a car into it, by mistake or otherwise….


	6. Chapter 6

Shattered 6

He didn't want to go home-- ever again. Shaking, and distracted, he almost didn't make it.

He was careless with his speed, and thought seriously of swerving into a tree to 'end it all'. _My luck, I'd only end up crippled, not dead. Then I'd never escape---_

When Norman reached the house, anger won out. He shouted and swore, broke vases and knocked over furniture. He wanted to destroy everything that woman loved-- anything Connie had ever valued or cherished. He smashed the glass of framed photos, and tore up the lying images of 'happy life'. He ripped the sheets off the bed, shredded them with bare hands and for a moment considered putting a torch to it all. Destroy the house, burn it down for every outrage committed-- annihilate everything connected to that hateful, selfish----

When the tempest was over, Norman was kneeling in the middle of the living room. He was surrounded by shards of his married life-- married 'lie'. His hands were bleeding under the bandages, and his vision was blurred by tears. How long had he been crying? And bleeding? He dropped to his side, curled in a fetal position, and wrapped his arms around himself.

Some hours later, Norman struggled to his feet.

He undressed and threw his clothes into the laundry room. After a vigorous scrub in the shower that left his skin red, he redressed in clothes that 'she' hadn't touched. Like so many times before, he would clean up the mess. He'd been accustomed to cleaning up after mother, wiping up the blood, getting rid the bodies. _Oh, if it was only that simple. Cover up all the evidence, get rid of all the pain…_

The idea made him grin a bit, but he put away the thought.

The bed was remade, the glass swept up, the vases pitched in pieces into the trash. He straightened and re-arranged as much as he could, hoping she wouldn't notice the wedding picture was gone, or the lamp base was cracked. The garbage bags were carried out, the rug vacuumed. It was almost 5 am by the time he climbed into his bed on the couch.

The bitter thought of what transpired at La Belle was still stinging him, though he clenched his eyes tight against the memory.

He had been so careful with people-- women-- and relationships--- just in case mother was right. It was perhaps too ironic to consider-- when he finally married, it was to one of those women he'd always been warned about. A dose of pain medication would help bring on sleep. He wouldn't have to think about the horror he was living, or feel like his mind was slipping again. For a few hours at least, he wouldn't have to think of anything at all.

He looked at the medicine bottle, on the table beside the couch. His lids were growing heavy and sleep would soon take him.

_How many would I have to swallow, not to wake up again?_

The next morning, Connie let him sleep.

Despite best intentions, she could not help but notice something about the place looked different. Things were moved and missing-- she wasn't sure just what, but she noticed the empty places on the wall and table. She left her bag by the door and peered into the darkened room, satisfied to hear Norman breathing through his mouth as he slept. She closed the door and left him alone.

Maybe -- just maybe-- she had pushed too hard the night before. As his wife, she felt she had a certain right to her husband's physical-- and sexual-- companionship. Still, if he was that much opposed for whatever reason, maybe she shouldn't force herself on him. Perhaps, in her condition, he no longer found her attractive?

But she was too tired to explore the subject further. He would just have to adjust to things, and she would try to give him the time and space he needed. She noticed the clean sheets on the bed and wanted to believe it was just Norman being thoughtful-- and perhaps forgiving-- of her earlier impulse.

But she paused before laying down, feeling a curious chill.

For the first time in their life together, she felt unsure. Quickly, she stepped to the bedroom door and turned the lock. There was a growing doubt, and the fear that perhaps something was wrong.

It worked very neatly; by the time Norman was able to pull himself up from the rumpled blankets of his 'bed', Connie had been asleep for a few hours. At least she wouldn't badger him-- wouldn't even look at him-- as he started his day. It was already noon by the time he had dressed and shaved.

It would be a special day, as he saw it. There would be no going back-- the point of no return. He had carefully selected a few things to take with him, including his favorite sweaters and comfortable jeans. These, along with a few pairs of shoes, and boots were carefully placed in an old suitcase and hidden in the back of the closet. It would eventually be removed to the little space at 'Store-It', the self storage business across town that he had rented the month before. It already held the few sad items he had purchased over the last weeks, personal effects he would need for his 'new life'. There wasn't much to show for all his efforts, but enough to fill a few pieces of luggage. He'd worry about other details when he had settled into a new home, safely removed from the present.

Today was the day he would plan his route; bus schedules, train schedules, car rentals all carefully considered. The only thing left to do was to decide where, and how far, would be considered safe. Taking his cup of coffee into the den-- his room-- he sat as his computer and eagerly went on line.

"You've got mail!"

The cheery voice alerted him, the moment he was connected. Expecting nothing more than the usual offers and advertisements, he opened his mailbox and was most pleasantly surprised. Stunned, in fact.

"News from Laney O'Donnell!" the subject header read. He nearly knocked his coffee cup over, when he saw the words. It was a message from God-- it had to be! He clicked 'read' and the note opened.

It was a notification, from Laney's website. He had joined the thousands of fans and added his email address to her page the day he had found it. Still, he hadn't signed the guestbook, or sent her a note even though the site encouraged-- what he would call--- 'fan mail'. How could he, after all? They'd only known each other for a matter of weeks, and that was decades ago. There was no way she'd remember him, and he'd feel pretty silly if she never replied. Well, he felt pretty silly anyway. His eyes scanned the post anxiously, though he knew that it was the sort of bulk mailing that went out on line whenever you signed up for something. It was exciting, anyway.

The announcement talked about the upcoming release of the third book in a current series of historical fantasies she had penned. _Must get to the library today and find these. _It also referred to a recent interview, in a small NY based magazine, and then his eye fell on the tour schedule.

A book signing tour. Coming to California, this week.

He gasped audibly, and then covered his mouth for fear of discovery. No, Connie wasn't spying on him; she was sound asleep on the other side of the house. Leaning intently over the screen, he studied the dates and locations where Laney O'Donnell would be making her appearances.

His heart skipped a beat, and again he looked up, fearful that he had heard something in the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet listening, he was assured it had been nothing, and then refocused his eyes on what had so impressed him.

She would be appearing in Oakland, tomorrow.

Oakland!

He leaned back against the couch cushions, still staring at the computer balanced on his knees. It wasn't exactly next door, but it was a good deal closer than the east coast. Could he go?

Should he?

A dozen ideas fired through his brain at once.

_What a coincidence! She's been on my mind-- but I couldn't! Look at yourself, Norman-- you're a skinny old man who's spent almost half his life in mental hospitals! What are you trying to prove, anyway? You can't go back to that innocent time-- you can never go back!_

Connie's recent cruelty was almost forgotten-- as long as he focused thesmiling face of Laney in the website photo, Connie didn't matter. Just looking at the picture made him feel good, and filled him with a sense of purpose. It was a gift from God! A message, telling him that he had to go, had to see her again-- even if she didn't remember, he did. It was as if Laney and Connie were complete opposites-- the presence of one, and her treachery, was somehow negated by the memory of the other. Maybe if he actually saw her, it would have a lasting effect.

He signed off after making note of the date and times, and the bookstore location. He slid the laptop into its case, and fished a an old gym bag out of the closet. Some clean clothes, a few changes of underwear-- where was his tweed jacket? Had he already packed that? He'd stop at 'Store It' and drop off the newly packed suitcase on the way. For the time being, bus schedules and escape plans were forgotten-- this sudden opportunity was too good to pass up.

He put the suitcase, bag and computer in the trunk, then hurried back inside for one last thing.

Closing the door behind him, he stood quietly in the living room for a full minute. There was no sound inside the house except the ticking of a clock. Connie had not heard or been roused by his activity. He finally strode into the kitchen, and took up the note pad on the table, to hastily scrawl his intentions.

'Connie,

I am taking a few days to myself. Possibly up to Oakland, just

to take a break. Lots to think about, and I need some time alone. Back

soon.

Norman'

_More of an explanation than she deserves. And this is one thing she's not going to get the chance to ruin._

He placed the pad conspicuously on the table, and read it over one more time to assure himself there was no hint of emotion, good or bad, it the brief message. He smiled and took an apple from the bowl, and headed determinedly for the door. He was running away from home, just for a little while. Perhaps just for practice.

Before he had crossed the living room, he had a sudden idea, and changed his course for the den. A moment more and he was finally on his way, with a small box of childhood mementos under his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Shattered 7

It seemed intrigue was beginning to agree with him. Norman did not consider it as 'deception' anymore-- it was survival. And it wasn't his fault, anyway-- Connie had driven him to this. _And now, I am driving myself. _

There was a sense of excitement as he fueled the car up at the corner station, and a slight 'rush' as he added the new suitcase full of his things to the rented storage locker. He stood for a moment, looking at the luggage and thought about taking it all with him now.

_I could leave once and_ _for all, today. Pack the car, stop at the bank and just keep driving after Oakland…._

No, there was still a few loose ends that needed tidying up. He wanted nothing to go wrong once he made the final break and though the spontaneity was appealing, he fought the impulse. The locker door was secured, and he felt confident as he returned to his car. He was being a responsible adult, not an over-excited child. Still, he was feeling as wonderfully giddy as a boy when he drove away.

What would Connie think, when she got up and read the note? Would she call the police, thinking he'd had a psychotic break? _And whose fault would that have been? You're not my keeper, Connie Bates-- not my lover, hardly a wife and that in name only until I get a lawyer. Go ahead and call the police-- and explain what you did at La Belle that may have pushed me over the edge._ Of course, there was a break-- though not psychotic-- and she had instigated that long before La Belle.

Maybe she'd just be angry. Or rummage through the den for some hint of intention-- a piece of mail, a note, a receipt. More than likely she'd get indignant, maybe even depressed that he wasn't around to 'step and fetch' for her. It didn't matter-- at least for a few days she wouldn't be able to touch him. Like so much else, thought of her retreated to the realm of 'bad memories'.

It was going to be a long drive, but that was fine. There was some wonderful classical music on the radio, and every moment put more distance between him and that nightmare of 'home'. It struck Norman as remarkable that it was the first time in all his life he ever did something like this; to travel so far from home, alone, and of his free will. A wonderful teasing prelude to the escape that was to come.

He formed a plan as he traveled. He'd find a hotel nearest the bookstore where Laney O'Donnell would be appearing. He'd go to the bookstore the night before, maybe buy a few books for her to sign-- _that would be perfect!_-- and then turn in for a good night's sleep in a real bed. The next afternoon? He still had no actual 'game plan' for that-- other than going and actually seeing her in person. Would he talk to her and introduce himself? Would she remember? Did that even matter?

Is this what it felt like for fans back in the days of Beatlemania?

He chuckled, and then laughed out loud. Offenbach's 'Orpheus' filled the air-- 'can-can music' as he'd always called it, thanks to years of late night movies. The miles rolled away, the recent past grew dim as the hours ticked by, and Oakland beckoned like a lighthouse beacon through the endless fog of night.

_Connie knows by now. She knows, she's read the note and she still doesn't believe it. She's calling around, neighbors and friends-- __her__ friends. 'Anyone seen Norman? Anyone spoken to him?' She's even called work, maybe calling out for the night? Or was she supposed to be off anyway? Maybe she'll just ignore it. She'll figure, 'that's Norman, acting like a child again!' and go about her usual self-serving. egotistical, selfish business._

It almost bothered him for a moment, very briefly-- to think he might not be missed at all. Then, sobering reality that whatever she thought and did, it was no concern of his.

Connie had stared at the familiar scrawl, reading it again with her coffee. For a while, she blamed herself for having been so forceful the night before. If he was going to be that much of a child, she'd keep her distance. They were still husband and wife when all was said and done, with a third member of the family on the way. She had her baby to think about, and Norman's sudden exit for a few days might be what they both needed. She didn't have time to baby sit a grown man, and wondered if he realized how irresponsible he was being.

Her guilt soon passed, and she sighed in frustration. As a doctor, she had known from the start what obstacles they faced, with Norman's past. But she had baggage of her own, from a failed marriage and so many lonely, unhappy years. With that biological clock ticking away, Norman had been her last-- and only-- hope to start a family. She loved him of course, despite his stubbornness and irrational fears, but since the pregnancy was announced and regardless of the attention he paid, he was still struggling with it.

Connie smiled and rubbed her belly, soothing herself and the life she carried with more pleasant thoughts. If her husband continued to have his sullen moods, and these little unpredictable spells, well, there was always medication to consider. Failing that-- if he really needed time away-- perhaps further hospitalization would help.

Secretly, she promised the infant that should she ever be forced to make a choice, her baby would come first. That was as it should be.

By the time Norman arrived in Oakland, it was long after dark. He had driven straight through, and his legs were stiff and aching. The bookstore would be closing soon, so he made that stop before finding a hotel. He was tired and hungry and desperately wanted a bed to collapse in. Finding a table set with Laney's books revived him.

One by one he picked up the volumes, from children's picture books she'd illustrated herself, to the young adult series he'd recently read about. He smiled at the photos-- all different-- that smiled back at him on each cover and jacket. He even felt a surge of pride, reading the sign board and poster announcing tomorrow's special event.

There was a voice overhead, advising customers that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes, and that they should bring their purchases up to the check out counter. He made his decision quickly, gathering up an assortment of half a dozen books. The cashier smiled at him when he paid; more than the vague 'pasted on' smile the job required. She must have thought he was buying for every child in his family!

As he accepted his receipt and the oversized bag, he hurriedly asked about the nearest 'good' hotel.

"That would be the Park Grande, sir. Three blocks up, on the corner of 10th Ave."

Norman thanked the young woman and was on his way. Twenty minutes later he walked into room 403 and locked the door behind him.

_Some room service, a shower, and books to read!_ It all seemed quite exciting to him, no matter how mundane it sounded.

One o'clock the next afternoon, there was a lot of activity in the bookstore. As predicted, the special appearance of Laney O'Donnell had generated quite a crowd.

Norman had walked from the hotel to the store, hugging two volumes snug under his arm. He had managed to wait until almost 2 before leaving his room, and had spent considerable time making himself presentable. He wasn't sure what to wear, and felt a suit and tie was too pretentious. He finally decided on comfortable and casual-- tweed jacket, black turtle neck and jeans. He then spent those three blocks mentally rehearsing something to say.

_You're being a complete idiot! She's famous now-- well, famous in some circles. She's a grown woman with her own busy life-- and you're looking at a few weeks of a summer that's ancient history. She'll never remember you._

But that wasn't the point, really. While it was nice to imagine she might recognize his name-- if he ever had a chance to say it-- he would probably walk away with two autographed books, a smile and some well wishes. He could fantasize about whatever he liked-- and convinced himself that the important thing was simply to see her again.

There were dozens-- maybe hundreds-- of people, standing in a long line that seemed to wind its way back and forth down the aisles. Excited children of all ages, on the hands of parents or older siblings, chattered and laughed as they slowly progressed toward the table at the front. Norman tried not to appear anxious, as crowds always made him nervous. Gradually, he worked his way along the aisles, to a position at the end of a stack, just so he could get a glimpse of the day's main attraction.

There she was.

She was smiling, just like all of her photos, chatting pleasantly with a man and two young fans. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and she had a pair of reading glasses on a chain around her neck. Except for these differences, he recognized the little girl who used to laugh and smile at him. She didn't notice him, of course, with all the faces, voices, and activity. He was concealed around the corner of a tall bookcase, and at least to one observer, seemed to be acting strangely.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

A rather gruff female voice at his shoulder made him jump in surprise. A short, heavy woman with close-cropped black hair stood beside him, grinning like a lascivious cat.

"Laney O'Donnell. A big hit with kids and parents alike." she added.

"Yes, certainly." Norman was not comfortable with this woman, and especially with her standing so close. He hugged his books tighter as if afraid she would snatch them away.

"You getting those signed for your kids?" She nodded toward the items tucked in his arms.

"Eventually." He managed half a smile. Whoever this person was, she wasn't entitled to know his personal business.

"I'm Sandy Chandler, Ms. O'Donnell's represenative."

"Really?" He couldn't imagine why this should matter to him, or why she felt the need to explain. "You must be pretty happy, on a day like today."

She shrugged, realizing this man was not overly impressed with her credentials. It didn't matter, really, as long as he kept buying Laney's books.

She turned away as if there were other things needing her attention, but not before offering a word of advice,

"You better get on line soon, it's not getting any shorter, and she's only here until 4."

Norman relaxed once the woman had gone, and then looked back toward Laney. Another happy family had appeared and she was reading a passage aloud with the youngest, who squealed in delight at the exchange. He nodded quietly, realizing it may take a full two hours for the line to be exhausted, and he headed off to find a place at the end of it.

It was a bit awkward at first, finding himself one of the few adults who did not have children in tow. But that didn't seem to bother anyone else, so why should it matter to him? The line inched along, and the woman in front of him, with two little girls, occasionally engaged him in conversation. How long was it going to be, how the kids loved these books, how glad she was that they discovered reading--- all comments to which Norman would smile and nod and maybe offer one or two words in agreement. He admitted to having no kids of his own but was there 'for a friend'. Gradually, the line moved close enough for him to overhear some of the conversations Laney had with her fans.

She was always polite, never rushed them off, listened patiently to every word, and modestly accepted praise with gracious thanks. Parents voiced their gratitude to her, for encouraging their children to read, and for producing such uplifting, positive works. There were times when Norman felt a sense of pride, or hid his laughter by turning his head, when the littler ones said something unexpectedly funny. Suddenly, he was next in line. The woman and her girls were already talking to Laney and getting their books signed. A wave of fear swept him. What was he going to say??

Just as suddenly, the happy family moved off with their treasures, and Laney's blue eyes were gazing up expectantly, bright and smiling.

"Hello!" she greeted.

Awkwardly, he stepped forward, and managed a crooked smile. She blinked for a moment as if that smile was…. familiar.

"Hello, M..Ms. O'Donnell. It's a pleasure t..to see you." He had stammered! He hardly ever stammered anymore! Laney's smile just seemed to widen at this, and he sighed in relief.

A quick observation told her he was without children. He presented his books proudly.

"You, sir, have a charming smile!" she giggled playfully. Norman couldn't help himself and laughed a bit, too. He was obviously all nerves. "A very special smile."

"That's one of your titles." he observed. _Idiot! She knows that!_ He had seen the book yesterday, but it was not one he had purchased.

"Would you like these inscribed?"

He nodded vigorously, afraid he might stutter again if he spoke.

"Norman." He managed to say in one quick breath. Laney nodded took up her pen, and continued to chat while she signed.

"Are you originally from California?"

"Y..yes." He cleared his throat and looked around self-consciously. It would be unbearable if anyone was listening to a grown man stutter.

"Your smile." Laney looked up, before signing the second book. "It reminded me of someone. The reason I asked, I guess-- about where you grew up. His name was Norman, too." He also had big dark eyes and a stammer.

_She remembers! She knows! Say something!_

"And h..his family owned a m..m..motel."

Laney looked up from the second signature, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Norman?"

There was that smile again, and the nervous rapid nodding in agreement. Laney covered her mouth with one hand, unable to mask her surprise. Somewhere that Chandler woman's voice piped up.

"Laney-- what's wrong?"

"Oh my God! Norman!"

The guest author was now on her feet, reaching across the table and trying to hug the tall lanky stranger.

"Laney?" Chandler's voice was insistent.

"No, it's alright, Sandy. Norman is an old friend!"

It was impossible, even for Norman, to describe the rush of emotions that flooded his senses. The delight in seeing Laney again, the surprise that he'd been remembered-- the pride to be called 'an old friend'--plus the discomfort in knowing that others were watching; it was making him dizzy.

"I was s..sure you wouldn't--"

"Remember you? Don't be silly-- you are the Very Special Smile!" She would not release his sleeve, and shooed Sandy away before she could take a seat. "No, let Norman sit there." Her eyes looked back to Norman. "You will sit, won't you? Do you have some time?"

Norman nodded dumbly, and despite the disappointment to Sandy, took the chair beside Laney. She sat down again, patted his leg fondly, and handed his books to him.

"I can't believe it's really you!" she beamed. "Oh, there's so much to catch up on!"

He was speechless, but he couldn't stop smiling. She still had several more people to greet and dozens of books yet to sign, but she made him promise to stay put. There was no way she was going to let him out of her sight until they could have a chat. Meanwhile, the displaced Ms Chandler eyed the stranger from a safe distance, with arms crossed skeptically.

Something about this guy was giving her the creeps.


	8. Chapter 8

Shattered 8

It was awkward in the extreme, for Norman-- but it was a discomfort he was more than willing to bear, in this case. He had always hated being stared at, ever since he was a kid. At school he tried to blend into the background and not be noticed. His shy ways drew taunts of 'Mama's boy', or got him cruelly teased for stuttering; the sort of unwanted recognition that echoes through a lifetime. Then later it changed to the prying eyes of doctors, or the hounding by police officials. And now, when he thought he had finally managed to escape society's notice, he was the subject of the curious gazes of Laney O'Donnell's 'public'.

Yet, all he had to do is look up at Laney and he'd start smiling again. It wasn't so bad to be on display, in her company.

"Don't worry." she whispered to him. She even remembered the painful shyness of his youth and could tell just how uncomfortable he was. "They're probably all wondering if you are my husband!" It was a playful observation, and coming from her, not malicious in the least. "What was the name of your motel, again?"

"The Bates Motel." he whispered.

"Ah!" She felt foolish, having forgotten it after all this time, but this served to remind her. Another young fan approached with her favorite stuffed toy, and Laney didn't miss a beat. "Well, hello there! What a beautiful baby you have!"

There wasn't much time for real conversation, but the intermittent banter led to the discovery that Norman was staying at the same hotel as Laney. When at last the crowd had wandered away, Sandy Chandler was there fielding questions from a local news reporter. Laney pretended to collapse in happy exhaustion on the table.

"That was v-very kind of you." Norman remarked as they rose to their feet. "You were o-only supposed to be here until 4." The wall clock at the counter read 4:45.

"Well, all these people make an effort to get here and I can't very well send them away. Besides, I'm the one who makes them late."

Ms. Chandler was there suddenly, demanding her associate's attention.

"I've called for the car. Don't forget you've got that 8 o'clock meeting with the writer from Child's Play."

"I'm not allowed to forget." Laney sighed. "Oh, Sandra, this is Norman Bates, a very dear old friend." She latched on to Norman's hand fondly, to his pleasant surprise.

"We've met." the agent smirked. "And I hate to interrupt your stroll down memory lane, but Ms. O'Donnell needs to be getting back to the hotel. She's on a tight schedule."

Norman decided he definitely did not like this person. She was loud and pushy, and maybe that was her job, but he found her completely unpleasant. He wrapped his fingers around Laney's, cementing the hold she had impulsively taken.

"Oh, Sandy, not now! You take the car and the boxes. Norman and I are going to walk." As an afterthought, she looked up at him apologetically. "If that's alright with you?"

"Sure." he smiled.

Three blocks passed quickly, even though they had taken a slow pace. Hardly stammering now, Norman held his books with both hands and felt more inclined to conversation.

"So, what brings you to Oakland?" Laney urged. "Are you living here now?"

"I don't think I could ever live in a city. Well, I mean, I never have."

"Are you visiting, or on business?"

"Visiting." He smirked and looked at the people on the sidewalk ahead. "I came to see you, actually."

Her expression was one of genuine surprise.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm serious. I just found out yesterday that you were coming to California on a book signing-- what do they call it? Tour? I guess it sounds pretty silly."

"Totally sweet and typically Norman!" She giggled, just the way he remembered it, and it made him smile even broader. "You know, you were the inspiration for one of my first picture books." It was now Norman whose face betrayed surprise. In fact, he felt warm and realized he was blushing. "The Very Special Smile! I never forgot it. Or you. Why didn't you ever answer my letters?"

"Letters?"

"It broke my heart, you know. I must have written you three times a week for awhile."

"I never got any letters." Norman seemed confused, until he remembered a lecture from his mother-- ages ago and out of the blue. It served to discourage all future attempts at trying to make friends; quite a blow for a lonely little boy. _Her mind was starting to slip by then. _His mother must have taken the letters, and probably read them. "Oh, Laney, I'm sorry. My m-mother. S-she must've kept them from me. I always wondered why you didn't write."

"That's just mean! Who could do that to a child?"

_You'd be surprised._

"Do you still have the motel?"

"Not for a few years now. I ran it alone for awhile, but so many things happened….."

"I want to hear all about it! I suppose you're a married man by now, with a family."

"Not exactly. I guess you could call me a late bloomer. I got married just a couple of years ago, but it hasn't….worked out. In fact, we're in the process of… going our separate ways."

"Well, whoever she is, she's a fool to let you go. I've been widowed now for ten years. I can't believe you remembered me!" That was the girl he knew-- quick to jump from topic to topic without drawing a breath. They stopped at the last corner before the hotel and waited for the light. "Listen, I have that interview to do at 8 down in the hotel restaurant. Why don't we have dinner together, and you can tell me everything!"

"Alright."

Norman hadn't eaten all day, and since Laney said she was famished, they went directly to the restaurant when they reached the hotel. For two hours they sat, and laughed, and coyly skirted the subjects that each felt might be too awkward for dinner time chat.

"Do you remember when we fell into the swamp?" Laney could hardly talk, for laughing.

"I didn't fall in-- you pushed me!" Norman replied playfully.

"I did not! I slipped!"

"And you grabbed me on the way down. Mother was livid when she caught us---"

"Well, could you blame her? Two kids standing in their underwear in the laundry room? We thought we could wash our clothes before getting caught covered in mud!"

"And we would have gotten away with it too, if somebody didn't dump half a box of laundry soap in the machine."

At the time it was nothing to laugh about; Mrs. Bates over-reacted as she was prone to do in those days. There was such a scene that Laney's parents even thought about finding another motel, but she eventually came around so they would stay. She didn't consider a little girl as suitable companionship for her son, but their money was welcomed.

"Do you remember our time capsule?" Laney's eyes shined brightly at the memory. Norman set his silverware down and leaned his chin on clasped hands.

"Funny you should mention that." He grinned sleepily. "That's what started me really thinking about you, and looking for you on line. I'm going to be selling the property and so I went back for a last look, I'd guess you'd say. It's a wreck now, the motel, but you were the first-- and happiest-- memory that came up. So I decided to find our time capsule before it was lost forever."

"Oh Norman, that's so sweet!" She made a frown suddenly, in jest. "But it hasn't been 100 years."

_No, but it sometimes feels like it._

The staff removed their empty plates, promising to return with coffee and dessert. When they had left, Laney pressed for details.

"Well? Did you find it?"

"Apparently, mayonnaise jars last forever. It was all there, pretty much the way we left it." He looked down shyly. "It's upstairs, in fact. I brought it with me in case…."

"Oh, I'd love to see it! Listen, I'm in 523-- the interview won't last more than 30 minutes-- maybe an hour if there's a lot of chat. Can you come up to my room about 9? And bring the jar! It's a suite, so we can hang out on the couch for awhile."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I'm have to be in a coma before I'd miss the chance to visit with you!"

"Then I'd love to, Laney."

The coffee and dessert arrived as predicted, but Norman seemed suddenly distracted. He looked down at his plate thoughtfully.

"What's wrong, Norman?"

"Nothing. Except there's something I have to tell you." He drew a deep breath and decided he'd better come clean. She was his friend and deserved that much. "I've spent a lot of time….in hospitals."

"What happened? Were you sick?"

"Not physically, no. I started having….blackouts. Mother apparently was not quite right and I guess I inherited her genes. When I was a teenager she used to…"

"You don't have to tell me if it's too hard for you."

"No, I want to tell you." _I have to tell you._ "She started losing her mind. And it affected me to the point where I started to….I started to slip a little, too."

Laney's expression was sympathetic and concerned. She reached across the table and rested her hand on his.

"Oh Norman, I'm so sorry."

"That's not even the worst part." he whispered. "I… did something unspeakable. Mother… died. Later, I started to black out and apparently I…hurt a few people." _Somewhere in the neighborhood of 10... _

Laney nodded and tried to lighten the mood by fixing her coffee with milk and sugar. She didn't want him to feel any more uncomfortable than he already, obviously, did and spoke without looking at him.

"Did these people die?"

Norman nodded briskly, and than realized she hadn't seen.

"Yes." He looked at the 'double chocolate' cake on his plate and picked up his fork in a tight fist. "I was put in a.. special hospital. Twice. About 20 years of my life was spent in those places. The woman who was my doctor the last time decided she wanted to marry me. Once I was well again, she did. Probably one of the reasons things haven't worked out."

"Isn't that illegal or something?" Laney grinned. "I mean, for a doctor and her patient to get romantic?"

"I should have seen it was mistake." Norman mumbled. "I mean, I'm better now-- I don't have black outs or anything-- it's not like I'm dangerous." _This isn't going well. I sound like a moron. _"Anyway, I've hardly had any life of my own, on my own. I went from Mother, to hospitals, to Connie-- there was a little time in between, I even had a job for awhile. But I guess I just wanted you to know." His eyes raised, almost imploringly, and caught her gaze. "Please don't think ill of me. I'm not 'like that' anymore. I hope I haven't frightened you."

Laney O'Donnell smiled and nodded, trying to put the facts in proper perspective.

"You're my friend, Norman." she assured. "We were happy kids together, and that's how it will always be with us. I believe what you've told me, and that your life has been difficult. But you're here now, doing well and obviously a free man-- except for, what was her name, Connie? We all make mistakes, and sometimes we can't help it, especially if we have some genetic 'issues'. All I can say is I am thrilled that you sought me out, and that we've got some time together. I've missed you so much!"

_Is that all? You heard me, I'm sure-- I've killed people-- and you aren't judging me! You're still happy to see me!_

"Of course, I'll understand if you feel differently now. About inviting me to your room."

"Are you nuts?" Laney covered her mouth the minute the words had escaped. Norman's response was to laugh out loud.

"Not anymore, they tell me."

Laney immediately composed herself and smirked.

"Norman, I would be highly insulted if you tried to change our plans now." She raised her coffee cup for a toast and he responded in kind. "Until I leave Oakland, I want to spend as much time as possible with you."

For the first time in ages-- perhaps in all his adult life-- Norman felt like a whole person; happy, safe, and sane. It wasn't like those early times with Connie, when he followed her lead and tried not to make waves. He could be himself with Laney, not worry that she was trying to diagnose, treat, or even use his condition against him. And he didn't want this feeling to ever end.


	9. Chapter 9

Shattered 9

"There you are!"

It was the harsh, abrasive voice of Sandra Chandler again. Laney and Norman looked up together, as the sound of heels clicked loudly in their direction. The black haired harpy was back again.

"I've been ringing your room for the last hour!" She came to a halt at their table, glaring at Laney and then Norman for the inconvenience. "Is your cell phone still off?"

"We're having dinner." Laney pointed out casually. "Want some coffee?"

_A sedative would do more good. Like maybe a handful. Just don't invite yourself to the table._

"You've got to get ready." Sandy clenched her teeth and tried to keep her voice down. "It's almost 7:30!"

"Is it?" Laney was not impressed. "Well, the time sure gets away from you when you're having fun."

_You should try it sometime, Ms. Chandler. Might work out some of those ugly wrinkles on your sour face._

"Well, time to get serious, madam! The writer from Child's Play will be here soon, and I'm sure they'll want photos. You need to get back upstairs, change your clothes, fix your hair and look presentable. I swear, you're impossible sometimes." The agent focused her glare on Norman, who was outwardly calm, and quietly seething at the woman's rude behavior. "And thank you, Mr. Bates, for keeping her entertained, but playtime's over, and Ms. O'Donnell needs to get back to business."

"Calm down, Sandy." Laney insisted. "We're not done with dessert yet." It looked as if things could get a bit heated, so Norman cleared his throat and intervened.

"I wouldn't want you to be late." He pushed his chair back and stood up. He was anxious to keep the peace and get away from the Chandler woman before he said something 'inappropriate'.

"Clever boy." Sandy quipped and took hold of Laney's arm. "Now go on! I'll take care of the check. Good bye Mr. Bates."

"Walk me to the elevator, will you, Norman?"

Laney's remark, accompanied by her tongue stuck out in Sandy's direction, was intended as the last word. Norman offered his arm, and was only too happy to escort his friend to the elevator. To the fourth floor, in fact, where he had his room. There were only a few comments spared on the ride up.

"I don't mean to tell you your business, Laney--" Norman was still holding onto her arm as the floors slipped by on numbered lights. "But that woman seems like--" _Like what? A monster? A bitch? _"--like she thinks she's your mother."

"It's all I can do to keep from slugging her sometimes!" Laney admitted with a huff. "Oh, sure, she keeps me on schedule as much as anything can. I'm a little too mellow for her. Then again, she does keep the appointments and interviews coming. It's her paycheck as well as mine."

There was a 'ding' and the door slid open on the fourth floor.

"This is my stop." Norman smiled down into those merry blue eyes.

"Okay, but remember-- room 523, 9 o'clock-- and bring our Time Capsule!"

Norman patted her hand, stepped to the door, and then turned around to give her a sweet brotherly peck on the cheek. The door started to close and the pair of them almost panicked, trying to keep him from being caught,

"See you later!" he winked. The door slid closed and Laney O'Donnell smiled contentedly. When the door opened on the fifth floor, she quickly switched gears, in order to get back to the restaurant in time for the Child's Play interview.

Norman threw himself onto his bed with a pleasant groan. He felt wonderful! Exhausted from the nervous tension, but satiated on a wonderful meal and ecstatic with company of Laney O'Donnell. It was so wildly unexpected-- to be remembered with affection and to have her still desire his company even after confessions of his troubling past. It was like nothing else mattered except the fact they were together.

He grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it tightly, unable to keep from giggling like a boy. She still held a marvelous, secret and sacred place in his heart. Oh sure the years had added a few smile lines to them both, maybe a few gray hairs, but once they started talking it was as if they'd only parted company yesterday. She used to make him feel ten feet tall and the most fabulous boy in the world. Now, except for the age difference, she still made him feel special-- in a good way.

He had just under 90 minutes, he figured. He would take another shower, warm up some of those muscles that had finally relaxed, shave again just to in case there was another chance for a quick kiss, and change all his clothes. It wasn't as if they were dirty, but after a shower, fresh clothes were always best. Maybe he should buy some flowers? _Alright, let's not over do it! It's not like a first official date or anything. Well, it is, sort of. She hasn't seen me in forever and she invited me to her room! _

He rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling, well aware he had a ridiculous grin on his face. It had been lovely to sleep in a real bed for a change, in a place he didn't have to share with someone who bothered him. _A real bed, and not the couch in the den at home._

_Correction, at Connie's home._

The silly grin faded away, at just the thought of that name. Was he being cruel? Had he been wrong to leave in such a rush? She was probably worried. _Well, let her be worried! What's a few nights of worry compared to what she's put me through? Selfish, inconsiderate-- _There was no room for forgiveness in his heart, not for her. She tricked him-- she'd been tricking him from the start, and he hated the fool he'd been. It's not bad enough to lie about being in love, or agreeing that there _wouldn't_ be children. And then she had assaulted him-- molested him-- even now the memory made his stomach lurch and he sat up suddenly for fear of losing control. The feeling passed and he relaxed, keeping dinner down with no need to rush to the bathroom and vomit.

_I never should have married her. Never should have believed her. She used me-- just to get pregnant!_ He'd rehashed this all before and suddenly he realized Connie was in fact ruining his good time, and this wonderful elated feeling at finding Laney again.

Laney! Now he laid back down, resuming that silly grin. She was honest, and friendly, and warm, and understanding. She didn't have ulterior motives; she liked him for himself-- she had always liked him that way. Even when he told her the 'bad news' -- _Most of it, anyway_-- She hadn't even cringed or asked a lot of questions. In fact her only response was concern for what he'd been through. The idea struck him that if Laney had stayed in his life, if they had remained friends, or if he had run away back then-- maybe none of those terrible things would have ever happened.

Laney was more than a friend. She was a soul mate, someone he belonged with. She gave him balance, and peace, and when she looked at him, she smiled at what she saw. Times like that, he liked being Norman Bates. No matter what happened to him now, no matter where he went after leaving Connie, he would make sure he and Laney stayed in touch. If he could write to her, or chat on the phone, or even email back and forth occasionally, he was sure he could survive. Just knowing her would be enough of a life line to help.

He bolted off the bed with purpose now. He double checked to be sure the door was locked, and then slid the chain in place just as an extra precaution. _All sorts of things could happen in a place like this._ Confident that nothing could interrupt, Norman hurried to the bathroom to shower and shave.

Laney made it back to the restaurant in record time, and scanned the tables for signs of Sandy. Through the door at the back, she saw the bar, and Sandy waving for her attention. The writer from Child's Play have arrived and she and Sandy were getting acquainted over a few drinks.

Ms. Chandler introduced the pair and Laney was as gracious and happy as always. The writer, Anne Beckwith, was a vivacious younger woman, with very blond hair and an abundance of jewelry. It was evident at first glance that she and Sandy had already hit it off.

Laney declined the offer of a drink, as she wasn't fond of alcohol. She ordered birch beer instead.

"Soda? How fitting for an author of children's literature." Ms. Beckwith commented. "It would be interesting to find out some dark secret about you."

"She hasn't any." Sandy quipped. "Nothing worth printing, anyway."

Laney laughed slightly at the rib, knowing her agent well enough to take her sarcasm in stride. For the next 45 minutes it was business as usual. The questions came in smooth succession and were mainly the same sort that Laney had answered dozens of times before. She tried to make the answers more interesting, adding humor and some insights, knowing full well that the young Ms. Beckwith would pick and chose those that best suited her purpose, and the magazine's needs. A few photos were taken, half of these involving Sandy, who billed herself the power behind the throne.

Checking her watch, Laney asked if there was anything else their guest wanted to know. The young woman was quite happy with the information she'd been given, and promised that the article would be appearing in the next issue.

"You're pretty hot news in our little world." Anne assured. "And I really appreciate you taking the time to met with me."

"Oh, it's been a pleasure. " Laney assured. "We're leaving tomorrow for L.A. and I've got a few more things to do tonight, so if you'll excuse me."

Sandy scowled at this remark.

"You're not planning to see that creepy guy again, are you?"

Laney returned the scowl, slightly less hostile for the sake of their visitor.

"His name is Norman, and he's not creepy. I haven't seen him in over 30 years, Sandy. And after today it'll probably be another 30 years." She afforded Ms. Beckwith a pleasant smile. "She's worse than a mother hen sometimes, and yes, you can print that. Now don't get up! You two stay and chat all you want, and have something to eat, the night is young. All work and no play makes Sandy a very dull girl!"

With wishes for a good night, Laney left them in the booth, ready to order another round. It was almost 9 and she didn't want to miss Norman.


	10. Chapter 10

Shattered 10

Laney wanted to clean up the mess in the sitting room area of the suite. She had left clothes and magazines, mail and photos laying around, so she scooped them up and tossed them hastily in the first bedroom. She'd changed her long peasant skirt and blouse from that afternoon, to something more comfortable for the interview; leggings, a long cowl neck sweater, and her soft leather Spanish boots. She always felt at home it that ensemble, even though Sandy thought the sweater looked more like a dress. But who cared about what Sandy thought? She wanted to be able to sit on the couch with Norman and even pull her legs up if she wanted. Sitting like 'wild Indians' like they used to do, sharing comic books until her mother-- or his-- complained.

It seemed like they had crammed a life-time into that summer.

Nine o'clock came and went, without Norman.

Laney didn't get too upset, because he had promised to come and Norman never broke a promise, as far as she was concerned. When it got to be 9:30, she reasoned he was probably as nervous as she was and just running late-- though why she was nervous, she couldn't say. She settled in front of the TV and played with the remote for awhile, waiting for a knock at the door. It was almost 10 when the phone rang.

"L-Laney?"

"Norman! I was starting to get worried!" Perhaps he had changed his mind?

"Laney, I'm so sorry! I fell asleep. I took a hot shower and thought I'd just lay down for a minute and I must have been too relaxed-- I just woke up-- am I too late?"

"After all these years. you're asking that now? You better show up at my door in 10 minutes, Mr. Bates, or I'll send the spaghetti monster to get you." Another blast from their past that made him laugh in relief.

"Not the spaghetti monster! 10 minutes, I promise."

"Oh, and I'm ordering some room service for us now, before the kitchen closes-- since we didn't get to have dessert."

"Okay-- be right there!"

Norman rolled off the bed, tore off his towel and got dressed so fast he ended up pulling one of those relaxed muscles in his back. White shirt, clean jeans, belt-- loafers, no socks? _No time for socks! _He grabbed the box of mementoes and darted into the hall, pausing long enough to make sure he had his key, and that the door was locked.

It hadn't been 7 minutes since she'd hung up the phone, when Laney heard the rapid knock on her door.

She peeked through the peep-hole, saw Norman nervously smoothing his hair and then asked in a squeaky voice.

"Who is it?"

He must have heard her laughing.

"It's the spaghetti monster-- run for your life!"

Laney opened the door and pulled Norman in by his sleeve. She closed and locked the door, sighing like a vamp.

"At last ve are alone!"

"No chance Ms. Chandler's going to pop in?" There was that special smile again!

"No, I left her in the bar with the writer from that magazine. They'll be busy for hours and she knows better than to bother me after 10."

Norman held out the box for her, which she accepted with a childish squeal and hurried over to the couch.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on!"

He couldn't resist, and he took a seat beside her, as she emptied the box on the coffee table. There were many sighs, gasps, exclamations and squeals, mainly from Laney. Norman added some excited comments of his own as they examined the items one by one and recounted endless stories connected with each. For one night, they could be children again, teasing each other and making silly jokes, until room service arrived and demanded attention.

Laney had not only ordered coffee and chocolate cake, but 2 shrimp cocktails, a bowl of fruit, tea, and a bottle of champagne. Norman whistled in surprise.

"Who got married?"

"Come on, it's a special occasion, Norman! And I'll have you know, I don't drink but in your case will make an exception."

It was decadent and wonderful. Norman kicked off his shoes and the pair sat on the couch, eating, drinking and being merry. It soon evolved into a guessing game, as they recaptured that time, long ago.

"My favorite book?" Norman challenged.

"The Pokey Little Puppy! Mine?"

"The Saggy Baggy Elephant! Hot dogs or hamburgers?"

"Hamburgers! Mustard or ketchup?"

"Ketchup-- on everything! Flavor ice cream?"

"Chocolate!" They both shouted and pointed at each other, with Laney breaking into a fit of laughter. They continued, with varying degrees of success, trying to out-challenge and out-guess each other until they all but collapsed, side by side. Laney set her head on his shoulder after he poured them both another glass of champagne.

"Oh, no more for me, Norman. I can't take that stuff!"

"Well we can't let it go to waste."

"You drink it, then."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Ms. O'Donnell?"

"Mmm-hmm." She nodded against him and curled one arm around him in a gentle embrace. "I can't tell you how much it means to me, meeting up with you again."

"Me, too. I haven't laughed this much in years." _Probably not since you went away. _"We should have done this years ago."

"Don't think I hadn't thought about it. But when I never heard from you, after all those letters, I figured you didn't want to stay in touch."

"I'm so sorry. Laney. My mother was just cruel some times."

"So_, _what about this Connie woman, this wife of yours? Does she know why you came to Oakland?"

"Not really. I ran away. Just for a few days. I left a note. We're having some real problems and it's not a very happy situation. Once I sell the property I'll move out."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure. Is it nice on the east coast? Maybe there."

"You'd love New England, and Cape Cod. And New York City is like no place else on earth."

"Is that good?" he teased. She responded by poking him in the ribs, and he yelped in surprise.

"That's right! You're ticklish!"

She set on him instantly, tickling him madly as he laughed and squirmed and pushed at her hands defensively.

"No, stop! Please!"

By the time she let up, Norman was lying on the couch, and she was between his legs, lying over him. It was a moment before they caught their breath. Norman couldn't resist scolding her, in a voice meant to imitate her father.

"Really, Laney-- that's hardly lady-like behavior." They'd heard that line a time or two. She retaliated with another attempt at tickling but Norman grabbed her wrists in time to stop her. She surrendered easily and tried to push herself up. Instead, Norman pulled her down gently so she rested her head on his chest. Only then did he dare release her wrists, and moved to hold her in a gentle, almost timid, embrace.

"What a pair we are." he sighed. "You're a famous writer. You've traveled the world-- you have traveled the world, haven't you?" She nodded, finding his broad chest quite a comfortable pillow. "And I've lived almost half my life in hospitals, and have never been out of California." This struck her as very funny, and she couldn't keep from laughing.

"What's the difference?" she teased. "Maybe when you…move out and if you find yourself on the east coast, we could do this all the time."

_That would be more than wonderful._

"Not if you're going to tickle me!"

"No?"

"Well, maybe a little."

Neither of them felt like moving, and they spent several wordless minutes comfortably lying on the couch. There was nothing wrong or licentious about it; it was the delayed peace of innocents. Love, plain and simple, the way it was meant to be.

"You're still the handsomest man I've ever seen."

"I am?" He craned his neck to look at her, just to be sure she wasn't laughing. "I'm an old man."

"And that means I'm an old lady."

"No you're not. You're still Laney."

"We better shut up while we're ahead."

Their bliss lasted awhile longer, until Norman made the casual observation that she was putting pressure on his bladder, and the champagne was objecting. Another spate of giggles, which only aggravated his distress, and they untangled at last so he could visit the bathroom.

In his absence, Laney surveyed the remnants of their feast with quiet satisfaction. Why couldn't life be like this all the time? She missed being a tomboy, acting silly, and being 'herself'. Certainly, she wasn't always in the public eye, and had plenty of time to herself at home. After her husband died, it was hard for awhile. Now she found herself wishing for someone she could spend that private time with-- as long as it was Norman.

"Snap out of it." she mumbled to herself. "He's married, and he's not interested in you that way."

When Norman reappeared, he wriggled his feet back into his shoes.

"It's almost 1, Laney. I should go and let you sleep." He hated to say it, but he cared about her rest-- he cared about everything concerning her.

She nodded and stood up to see him off.

"I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow." she sighed. "I'm not done visiting with you!"

He smiled and put all their childhood treasures back in the box. He would keep them safe for another time. Once this was done, he followed her to the door. Neither seemed happy with calling a stop to their evening, but it was one of those unavoidable responsibilities that went with 'adulthood'. She opened the door reluctantly, and he smiled at her warmly.

"I'd like to take you to lunch tomorrow, if I could-- before you leave?"

"We've got to catch a plane at 1 oclock." she moaned in disappointment.

"What about breakfast, than?"

Laney looked up at him, feeling as if her heart would break for a second time, because of this man. She knew it was now or never, and so she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"Alright. Beakfast, then. Under one condition."

"What?"

She leaned up and kissed his lips softly and sweetly, and he responded in kind.

"On the condition we have breakfast in bed."

"Oh, Laney." he rested his head against hers. "YPlease don't think me terrible-- or that I don't w-want to." _You're stuttering again!_ "I just… I don't think I'm r-ready for that."

She nodded in disappointment, and then threw caution to the wind. She kissed him again, a bit more passionately. She stopped long enough to whisper her regrets.

"I understand, Norman. And I don't think you're terrible. I think you're wonderful."

Another kiss followed, more intense and this time initiated by Norman. He folded his arms around her and she did the same. If this was all that fate allowed, she would take it with no regrets. When their lips parted, they were still holding each other. Norman reached back with his foot and nudged the door closed.

"I'm ready."


	11. Chapter 11

Shattered 11

Connie was scheduled for the evening shift, and no matter how angry she was at Norman, she wasn't going to disregard _her_ responsibilities. She just hoped that the 'time alone' he seemed so set on would maybe snap some sense into him. She was concerned, of course, since she was more or less aware of her role as guardian, in case he was ever guilty of 'diminished capacity'.

Physically, he was a grown man, but emotionally? Every bit the boy he had been when he poisoned Mother's tea. Of course he was no longer controlled by the same problems-- she would have never taken him into her life or her bed if there was a chance he'd 'relapse'. Maybe this was some new problem-- something never recognized and treated. And if that was the case, she couldn't afford to have it surface just now, with the pregnancy and all that went with it.

She was set to leave at 3:30, and would have, if the phone didn't start ringing. She dropped her bags in the doorway and ran to answer.

"Norman?" She was sure it would be her errant husband, perhaps overwhelmed by being far from his home turf. No one responded. She tried again. "Hello?" There was another moment of silence and the line went dead.

Another hang up call. It was getting tedious, but she didn't have time to bother with it now. The caller ID reported 'unknown number' like all the ones before. She set the phone in the cradle, made sure the answering machine was on, and then grabbed her bags and left.

The drive to work was occupied with rambling thoughts; she would give up this time to analyze the situation, but once she got to work, that was it. There were other lives to deal with and she couldn't be distracted.

Meanwhile, what went wrong? The incident at La Belle, obviously, and it would not be repeated. She had gambled that it would have swayed him to be more agreeable with their marriage contract, but it had only aggravated the situation. She would let him be sullen and childish, in that case. She would not think that once the child was born, the situation could get worse. That would not be tolerated.

Hours later and hundreds of miles away, Norman's thoughts were far removed from the unpleasant trap he left behind.

Laney's body was warm and inviting, pressed against his as they embraced in the suite foyer. Blindly he reached out for a small table and set aside the box he had almost crushed in his excitement. With both hands free, he stroked the contours of his partner's back. There was a rush of deep, passionate kisses that assured he was indeed ready to indulge in more. His jeans began to feel uncomfortably tight in his groin, and Laney felt it as well.

"Oh, Laney. Laney!" He practically crushed her in his desperate embrace. "I never imagined this-- I didn't dare. I didn't think you'd even remember!" He whispered anxiously in her ear, her long hair now unpinned and soft against his face. "I've never been with anyone but Connie." _Don't even speak that name. It has no business in this room, and these arms…_

"Shh. It's alright." she cooed gently. "I just want to be with you tonight. Even just to lie beside you while you sleep-- it doesn't matter."

He kissed her again, trusting her completely. She would never lie to him, he knew. She was different than that 'other person'; she had no reason to deceive him. She could have let their reunion end at the bookstore-- or even the restaurant-- but she didn't. She knew about his past, and that he was planning to leave an unhappy marriage-- she knew all about it and didn't care. And now perhaps they both felt this was their only chance to celebrate the one honest and pure relationship in their lives.

"But what about you?" Norman was afraid to ask, in case there was 'someone else', not mentioned in their hours of conversation. "Do you have…. anybody---" He felt ashamed to think that their time together might be compromising something else. He didn't want 'his Laney' to regret their time together, though he certainly didn't consider anything he was about to do as betraying a loved one. Outside of Laney O'Donnell, he had no loved one.

"No one." she assured softly. "Friends and acquaintances, but since my husband died…." She didn't know how else to say it. "I haven't been too interested in this sort of thing, until you showed up."

Another flurry of kisses convinced him that it was meant to be. A relationship, started as a childhood friendship, untainted by the excesses of intervening years, was free to blossom into romance-- the 'so much more' he had always dreamt possible for everyone except him.

She broke the embrace, tugging on his arm, and dragged him away toward the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes in the sitting room, following along in a trot. They laughed at their own awkward progress-- loosening clothes, indulging in kisses, as they made their hurried way.

Laney stood beside the bed, down to her lacey Victoria's Secret under things. Norman tore off his shirt with such enthusiasm that she laughed out loud. She sat on the edge of the bed and was immediately bowled over onto her back as Norman lunged forward to kiss her again.

More kisses, more fumbling with clothes, and more tender embraces quickly followed. Norman's hands trembled as they gently roamed the soft warm curves of Laney's flesh. He moaned into her mouth, as they moved together into a more comfortable position along the bed. Her hands slid between them, eagerly working at the buckle of his belt. She pushed against the waistband of his eans, and Norman moved from her only long enough to oblige. He peeled off the last of his clothing and pushed it onto the floor, before once more lying atop her for another flood of kisses.

She quickly embraced him-- all of him. Her hands stroked his shoulders, his back, his hips as he tensed and writhed in pleasure. Reaching down between their bodies once again, her fingers caressed him intimately, and he moaned at the touch-- the wonderful, gentle, healing hands that embraced, and stroked and inspired.

"I love you."

The frantic whisper escaped them both at the same time. _It's real! It's Laney! _With little effort Norman sidled his hips between her yielding limbs and consummated their union with ardent delight.

Time passed. Somewhere.

It didn't matter what hour it was; in that bedroom, in that hotel, in that tangle of arms and legs and bed sheets, time didn't matter.

Norman lay on his back, stroking Laney's arm as it rested over his chest. He was at peace, safe and secure, feeling cool air against hot flesh as perspiration dried. She was asleep now, head against his shoulder, hair spilling over the pillow like a sleeping angel. It was perfection.

He was pleasantly tired from making love, time and again, and should be sleeping, too. There had been ecstasy found in each others attentions-- attentions that happened without words or suggestion-- a natural progression, as if each knew-- instinctively-- what pleased the other. It had never been quite like that before, and he was already worried that it would never have the chance to be like that again.

_Don't think like that. Nothing matters but now. No one matters but Laney and me._

He smiled, and understood that everything happens for a reason. This bliss could never have happened quite like this, if her family hadn't left, if mother hadn't died, or even those other people, too. Because then he would have never met the doctor who married and betrayed him, and would have never been driven back to the motel, and the safety of childhood memories. Laney O'Donnell would have come and gone from California, signing books and he would have never known.

There was a soft purring noise again, like he had heard earlier. The muted tone of a cell phone beyond the bedroom door, maybe buried under clothes in the sitting room. After a few moments of insistence, it stopped.

Suddenly the room was split by the loud jangle of the phone at the bedside. Laney started and groaned, not willing to stir from sleep and let the world intrude. The phone was on the table on Norman's side of the bed, and he thought about lifting the receiver off the hook just to make it stop. Unfortunately, the caller would just try again, more than likely. And who would be calling Laney in the middle of the night-- _their_ night-- if it wasn't important?

Awkwardly, he reached for the phone and picked it up.

"Laney! Laney! Thank God you're there!"

It was that annoying Ms Chandler. She must have been the one trying the cell phone, too. Norman wasn't going to disturb his lady for this woman, and took particular delight in handling the call himself.

"Hello?"

That single word in a masculine voice sent chills down Sandy's spine.

"Is this Miss Chandler?" Norman smiled as he spoke in a deep, almost seductive tone.

"What the hell are you doing there?" Sandy was screaming into the receiver. "Where's Laney??"

"She's sleeping. Maybe you can tell me what this is about."

"Get her on the phone right now! I want to speak to Laney!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Is it something important?"

She slammed the receiver down with enough force to make him wince. Norman rolled slightly to the side, and clicked the phone a few times until assured of a dial tone. Then he opened the drawer of the night stand, dropped the receiver in, and closed it again. There would be no more phone calls to bother them now.

Laney nuzzled against her lover and wrapped arms around him, still half asleep. He rolled to face her, straightened the blankets over them and then gently took her in his arms. He thought he might try to sleep for a little while, and was soon dozing peacefully.


	12. Chapter 12

Shattered 12

Norman was jarred awake, unintentionally shaking Laney from her sleep. There was a hard, persistent pounding at the suite door.

"What's happening?" she mumbled. "Who's that?"

There were no shouts, or people running in the hall, so Norman felt that there was no reason for panic.

"Your Ms Chandler, I'll bet." he answered. "She phoned before and I refused to wake you."

It sounded silly enough to make them both smile. There were excited voices now in the hotel corridor and jiggling of the doorknob.

"If this is some kind of a joke---" Laney was no longer smiling. She switched on the light and threw back the bedcovers.

"Oh no you don't!" Norman pulled her arm gently to discourage her from getting up. "I'll go-- you're not dressed." He moved the blankets back into place over her and she leaned back playfully to kiss his nose.

"Neither are you."

There was no time to debate the point. The suite door slammed open suddenly, and people entered the room outside.

"What the hell--" Laney threw back the covers again, but Norman instinctively moved to protect her and held her back.

"Laney!" It was Ms Chandler's voice, suddenly joined by others.

"We'll handle this, Miss."

"The bedroom."

The couple stared in disbelief as the bedroom door burst open and three uniformed men charged in. Norman covered Laney quickly with his arm protectively over her.

"What the hell is going on?!" he demanded.

The men-- a security guard and 2 police officers-- stopped just inside the door. Apparently the 'endangered woman' they were looking for was alive and well, and a bit indisposed.

"Laney!"

Sandra Chandler barged in, right past the men, who were too embarrassed to say a word. Norman's eyes flashed fire-- and so did those of his paramour.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Laney snapped. "How dare you!"

"Ms O'Donnell?" The security guard spoke up. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright!!"

"This is outrageous! Is there a fire? An emergency?? Who are you people??" Norman was far more angry than embarrassed with the situation..

"Sorry, sir, m'am. We had a report of an endangered person. We were led to believe some harm had come to Ms O'Donnell."

"I'm fine-- we're BOTH fine-- now get out of here this minute!"

"Sorry to disturb you." The trio of men beat a hasty retreat, but Sandy moved to call them back.

"Wait-- you can't go! You've got to get this guy out of here!" she insisted.

"What?" Norman couldn't believe his ears, and glared at her.

"They will not!" Laney was furious. "Get out! All of you!"

"Listen to me, Laney! This guy's a murderer!" Chandler finally rushed to Laney's side of the bed, waving a handful of papers and practically shoving them in her face. "I couldn't sleep after Anne left so I went on line! And I searched for info on this childhood friend of yours--- He's a frikking murderer! He killed his own mother, Laney! And dozens more! He's dangerous--"

Laney hugged Norman's arm tight against her.

"I know about all that-- now will you please leave!"

Chandler's steam was knocked out of her for a moment. She couldn't believe Laney _knew_ was in bed with a serial killer. Norman drew a deep breath, tore a blanket from the foot of the bed, and wrapped it around him as he climbed from the bed. Sandy gasped, but stood her ground, tossing the papers defiantly on the bed. Norman stood at the end of the bed, pointing his finger accusingly at the intruder.

"You have no right to come barging in here! And get your facts straight, Ms. Chandler! I have _not_ killed dozens!" He felt the need to correct her, for no other reason then wounded pride. "Not that you deserve an explanation, but I was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Twenty years of hospitals--- did your research tell you that? And according to the state, the doctors and every legal standard, I'm no longer a threat to anyone!" _Except possibly to someone like you! _Norman did not realize his voice had grown louder until he was shouting.

"I can't believe we're having this conversation!" Laney butt in. "Sandy-- take your cavalry and get the hell out of here or so help me you'll be lucky to be answering phones at the office! And tell those men that they're this close to a lawsuit. LEAVE!!"

Sandy balked. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The others had wisely left already, and speechless, she followed, slamming the door behind her. Norman sat on the bed, breathing heavily and trying to calm down. Just as quickly, Laney was out of bed and slipping into her robe.

"W-where are you g-going?"

"To lock the door-- IF the lock still works."

By the time she returned to the bedroom, Norman had gotten back into bed, and was laying on his side with a pillow pulled around his ears. He was rocking himself slightly, and Laney knew he was upset.

"Norman, Norman." She climbed on the bed behind him and curled arms around his waist. "It's okay-- they're all gone."

He released the pillow with one hand and patted her arms.

"That's n-not the problem." He felt frustrated to be stuttering again.

"Then what is?"

"Now you know everything. I'm s-sorry I didn't tell you all the d-details-- about M-mother---" He felt like a frightened boy suddenly, about to lose his best friend all over again.

"Norman, I didn't ask for any." She kissed the back of his neck sweetly and cuddled closer. "I don't care what Sandy found, I don't care what she says. You aren't like that anymore."

"But now it's different."

"How?"

"I was afraid to t-tell you everything right away. I couldn't deal w-with the idea that it might scare you away. I d-didn't mean to lie--" Even as he spoke the words he felt ashamed and disheartened.

"You didn't. And know what I think?"

"What?"

"You are a prime candidate for the spaghetti monster. You're being silly. And I love you. Can you deal with that?"

He relaxed a bit and rolled onto his back, looking at her with searching dark eyes. She was smiling, and he believed he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. She wasn't teasing and more importantly, she wasn't afraid.

When he hugged her, it was like he'd never let go.

Connie was tired, and her feet were killing her. Her shift lasted two hours longer than it should have, thanks to paperwork and new admissions. All she wanted was to get home and go to bed. It seemed of secondary importance now, that Norman still wasn't home.

Three o'clock and she was climbing into bed. A quick glance at the answering machine showed no calls-- except for another hang up at 11. She hardly had a chance to lay down when the phone began ringing again.

She flicked on the light and saw Mrs. Harrison's number on the ID screen. What in the world was that woman doing up at that hour, calling her? Mrs. Harrison was a woman in her 70s, not always pleasant to deal with, but she was one of those 'early to bed' types who couldn't even tolerate loud music after 9 pm. If she was calling at 3 am, it had to be an emergency.

"Hello? Mrs. Harrison?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

The line clicked and went dead. A fearful chill swept her; another hang up, and this time from the house next door. Connie scrambled out of bed and quickly found her robe. Something was terribly wrong, and Norman wasn't there for advice or help. She picked up the phone again, thinking perhaps she should call the woman back, in case she'd had a fall, or needed help. She dialed the number with shaky hands, and listened to it ring without response. Now it became prime importance to check her own front door, and call for help.

She felt a bit foolish, explaining to the police dispatcher that she was worried about the old woman who lived next door, and why. The listener was patient, though not especially alarmed. He promised to have a squad car come by and check on Mrs. Harrison. Fortunately it was a slow night and a patrol was in the area.

Unfortunately, they found the woman's front door wide open, and a house of horrors inside.

Mrs. Harrison had been brutally murdered, partially disemboweled, and her throat cut so savagely that she was nearly decapitated. Police cars, ambulances and even reporters were crowding the street within moments of the police radio call for immediate assistance. The area was roped off with yellow tape, and dazed neighbors wandered from their homes, clutching their collars, and ordering their children back inside.

Connie was in shock. She ran to the toilet, threw up, and felt a sudden crippling pain in her gut. The baby.

Someone was knocking frantically at the front door, and she staggered into the living room holding her belly. The local police were well aware of her husband's past, and under the circumstances felt the need to ascertain his immediate whereabouts.

Connie couldn't make it across the room. She stumbled and fell, calling out to the patrolmen on her porch. She heard the door crack and splinter as the room spun around her and she lost consciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

Shattered 13

"I'm afraid she's in no condition to answer any questions, gentlemen." Dr. Corwin addressed the two detectives at the nurses' station. "She's resting at the moment, and we're doing all we can to help her."

Detectives Ackley and Warman were not completely without sympathy for the woman who had been rushed to ICU, but they had other matters to consider. The shock of her neighbor's murder had physically upset her to the point of threatening the pregnancy. It was Dr. Corwin's main concern to save the baby, and of course ease the mother's distress. The officer's primary concern was to locate Norman Bates.

"We understand, doctor." Ackley assured. "And we don't want to disturb her, but there is a vicious murderer loose and we need to find this woman's husband."

"Norman Bates." Corwin glanced at the file in his hand. "Do you think he's responsible?"

"It's too early to say." Warman explained. "But he has had a history of similar violence, mainly toward women. You can understand the urgency to locate him, under the circumstances."

"I don't relish your job." Corwin nodded. "Who was the victim?"

"An elderly neighbor. Overkill, actually."

"And the patient's husband is missing?"

"Seems to be that way." Ackley agreed. "No sign of him at the house, his car is gone, according to another neighbor. If we could just talk to your patient for a moment--"

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but as I've told you, she's resting. She's sedated and being carefully monitored."

"We'd like to station one of our men in the ward, if you don't mind."

"What? Is there a danger he might come here?"

"Never can be too careful." Warman smiled and handed the doctor his card. "Please give us a call when she's awake. The sooner we can find Norman Bates, the sooner we can move along with the investigation."

The pair departed, as Corwin thought it over. Suppose this missing man was the murderer? And what if he did show up at the hospital, possibly intending his wife-- or the staff-- harm? Corwin had examined the woman when she was admitted, and there was no indication of any assault, any injuries or old evidence of physical violence. He would put the staff on alert, and as soon as Connie Bates could be questioned, he would make that call.

By 9 am, word of Mrs. Harrison's murder was all over the news. Though names were not as yet mentioned, reports indicated that the police were seeking 'a person of interest'. In Oakland of course, neither Laney or Norman bothered to turn on the TV.

As promised there was breakfast in bed.

_Too little time and not much sleep made every moment precious to the pair. They stayed in bed as long as they dared, cuddling, laughing and ignoring the world. Each sweet word, gentle touch and soft kiss was savored and cherished like some divine secret. All too soon it was time to go._

"_I've had the most wonderful time, Norman." Laney found herself standing in the foyer again, stroking his face as he cradled their box of memories in his arms. "I'm so sorry that Sandy's an idiot._

"_She was worried about you. I can understand that." And the less I think about that woman and that incident, the better for all concerned. _"Though I wasn't prepared for an audience."

"I hope you weren't too embarrassed to be seen with me!"

"Never." He kissed her forehead tenderly. "I suppose we should be grateful for their timing."

"I doubt we would have noticed them otherwise."

There was a wordless moment as they looked into each other's eyes and smiled. They didn't need to put into words what they both obviously felt.

"I know you need to pack and catch a plane. You'd never get away from me so quickly otherwise."

"Well, book signing tours don't last forever, thankfully. I could come visit you when it's over?"

"I'd like that-- but I know someone who wouldn't." He smirked and pet her hair. "Besides, I don't really know where I'll be just then."

"You have all my numbers and addresses." She'd been certain to give her cell phone, home and office information to him. "Don't lose them! I'll be home right after the first of the month. And I want to see you."

They embraced one last time, with tender kisses and promises to be reunited soon.

"I'm so glad we found each other again, Laney." he whispered softly. "Nothing has ever felt so right. I want to be with you."

"You will be." she promised. "I'd like nothing better to see that lovely face on my pillow every morning."

It was over too soon. Norman was gone and Laney was hurriedly packing. The front desk called in Sandy's stead; she didn't quite have the nerve yet to speak to her associate. Norman returned to his room, deciding to get started on his return trip. If he was to lie down he'd fall asleep again and end up staying an extra-- pointless-- day in Oakland.

He had a purpose now, something more than escape. Before it was just the problem of running away from Connie as soon as possible. Now it was a matter of going away to be with Laney, to start a life together.

He was convinced that the divorce would be uncontested-- _I've committed adultery, there's reason enough for Connie right there, But she doesn't need to know. I don't want her to ever hear about Laney or to mention her name. Irreconcilable differences will be enough of a complaint. I'll add assault to the bargain if she doesn't listen to reason. I'll leave that nightmare behind once and for all and forget the past. My new life will be pure, loving and beautiful, and no one and nothing here will ever touch it. _

Two o'clock and Laney was looking wistfully from the planbe window as they taxied for take off. Sandy had been relatively quite and apologetic, wisely keeping her distance. Lucky for Ms Chandler that Laney was in a very good mood-- a direct result from her time with Norman. It was business as usual and soon the rude interruption of last night would be forgotten, or at least mention avoided.

Laney smiled softly, imagining Sandy's reaction when she eventually found out Norman was in her life to stay. She would probably throw a fit and threaten to end their association-- and Laney would happily agree if it came to that. She felt elated and inspired to finish signing obligations and start work on a new book. Life had been good before; now it had become fantastic!

Norman had been driving for a few hours, not bothering with the radio. He preferred to make this trip in silence, thinking fondly on the night just past. He was a new man as a result, no longer chained to the horrors of his history. The true and final cure for a life of misery had been so ridiculously simple, it inspired laughter several times during the journey.

It didn't matter if a hundred doctors cleared his release from a dozen hospitals. It didn't matter if he had been a saint, more clever than Einstein, rich as a king or poor as a pauper-- and the most sane man on the planet at that very moment. None of it would have made any difference. He was elevated-- by a single night in his lover's arms-- to a feeling of euphoria he had never known. It went beyond the simple physical pleasure most would associate with a night of love-making. _I have a reason to survive. No more trying to get through life a day at a time, just happy that no crisis came up. After all this time, and all these wasted wrong years, the answer had been under my nose from the start._

When he stopped for gas at 4 or 5, he filled up on coffee as well, and bought a sandwich for the ride. It came to mind, during the latter half of his trip, that he'd need to tell Connie _something_ about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. _I drove to Oakland to buy some children's books._ Technically true, but laughable. He could tell her anything but the whole truth at this point. It was enough to know he went away and came back again.

_At least for awhile._

Detectives Ackley and Warman had returned to the Harrison house as the investigation progressed, after a stop at headquarters. By that time, the body had been studied, photographed and lastly moved to the morgue. The police were still finding random bits of the woman throughout the house.

"20 years on the job, and I've never seen anything like this." Warman shook his head as technicians passed him in the hall. "What did Hazzerd tell you?"

Ackley looked at the pad in his hand, where he had jotted a few notes from an earlier phone conversation.

"Neighbors claim she kept to herself. Retired school teacher, with an elderly brother in a nursing home up in Washington. No other family. She wasn't going to win the prize for Most Popular. She had a temper and wasn't really friendly with the families around here. Always yelling at the kids for running across her lawn or making too much noise."

"Wasn't local kids that did this."

"I looked into the record on that Bates guy next door, I mean, since he _has_ a record." Ackley only knew him by name before this; most of the cops in the department made a point to know about all the residents on their beat with priors, but they generally relied on word of mouth about the histories. Case details never mattered until something came along to match.

"And I'll tell you what you found." Warman smirked. "Poisoned his mother and her lover when he was a teenager. Killed three other females and a private investigator before they locked him up the first time. Declared insane, discharged twenty years later, when another killing spree happened-- surprisingly, not his doing. Vengeful relatives of one of his early victims, trying to make it look like he was at it again. But the strain was apparently too much. By the time he was caught the next year, he'd added an old woman, 2 girls and a transient male who had worked for him to his credit."

"How'd he get out again?"

"That woman in the hospital? His pregnant wife? She's a doctor-- a psychiatrist or psychologist or something."

"Helps to have friends on the inside."

"Yeh, well. I'm not convinced this was his doing." Another technician had to get by, so Warman led his partner onto the back porch where there was less traffic. "It's too-- I don't know-- disorganized?"

"And that's not his style."

"No. He was always meticulous in cleaning up his messes. Wash everything, wipe up the blood, dispose of the bodies-- except for the two women he stuffed."

"Stuffed?" Ackley must have missed that part.

"His mother and the other old lady. Like taxidermy? He treated and preserved the corpses to keep them around for company."

Ackley snorted a laugh.

"Necrophilia?"

"Perish the thought! They were his 'mothers'. Of course, if your twisted enough to off some old broads and then preserve them, I don't imagine incest would bother you much."

"Anyway, we've got a warrant to investigate next door. Until the wife comes around and can give us a few answers, we should have a look."

Warman gestured broadly toward the house in question.

"After you."


	14. Chapter 14

Shattered 14

An All-Points Bulletin had been broadcast for the car of Norman Bates. Airports, bus and train stations were scoured, and area patrols were on the alert. The State Police were also advised, and while the missing man was not officially called a 'suspect', they were to approach this 'person of interest' with great care.

The home of Connie and Norman Bates was duly investigated. She had been the first to report something wrong with her neighbor, and had told the dispatcher about the phone call. Naturally, the lab was processing all prints found in the Harrison house; oddly enough, there were no prints at all on the phone-- not even those of the decedent, indicating the murderer had thought enough to wipe it clean. While the crowd of police personnel went in and out of the dead woman's home, Ackley and Warman had the Bates place to themselves.

Except for the broken front door, and the obvious evidence of the pregnant woman's illness and fall, the rest of the place seemed in order. However, they were able to piece together a little of the couple's history.

Someone was sleeping in the den regularly, likely the husband, from the clothes found lying around and in the closet. Perhaps they'd had a fight, and it hadn't as yet blown over. A cracked lamp and spaces on the wall where photos were missing made the pair suspect there had been some violence. Had this Bates character been abusing a pregnant woman? With his record concerning women, it was possible.

"Hey." Ackley called his partner into the master bedroom. "Check this out." He slid the closet door open to display very few items hanging on the husband's side. "What do you make of this?"

"She threw him out? There are things in the den, but not as much as seems to be missing here. Maybe he left her?"

"Neighbors say they saw his car in the driveway as recently as yesterday. Mowed the lawn Tuesday. And he helped a Mr. Bernstein across the street unload some wood last week. Apparently, they chatted about the baby-- Norman seemed in good spirits."

"The guy's a nut-job!" Warman smirked. "A regular psycho. You read his file-- normal enough one minute, crazed killer the next."

"I thought you didn't suspect him for Harrison."

"Unless he's changed. Usually, it's a knife-- slash and stab. And an early one was strangled and drowned-- one of the men, too-- but disemboweling and decapitation-- and leaving the scene a mess-- " Warman wanted to believe Bates just finally snapped for the last time, went overboard like Jack the Ripper and once he was located, it would be case closed.

"Well, his total absence is a bit suspicious." Ackley added.

"And there's this."

His partner held out a paper found on the kitchen table. One side was marked with some figures, and on the other side was a note. Ackley read it and shrugged.

"Who knows when that was written? Or if he didn't plant it there to placate the wife while he stalked Harrison?"

"Don't know, but I'll call it in anyway, so the highway patrol can keep an eye out."

The detective's cell phone started ringing and he answered immediately. It was the lab.

"Warman. What have you got?"

Ackley watched him closely, trying to read the gist of the call from the expression on his companion's face. After several seconds, the phone was closed and Warman motioned toward the door with a jerk of his head.

"What's up?"

"Lab processed prints from a kitchen cabinet. They come back to Bates. Let's go"

It would be hours before the crowd dwindled. Plainclothes men were posted down both ends of the block in unmarked cars, to keep surveillance on both properties, and a few neighbors opened their doors to permit patrolmen to keep watch behind the Bates house as well, Meanwhile, the gossip was rife, and people seemed willing to talk about their acquaintance with Norman Bates.

"He was always nice to me and my family. Tossed the football with me and the kids now and then. He and Connie seemed a happy couple. They were here for a barbeque last year."

"My wife never liked him. Thought there was something weird about him. I never knew he was a murderer."

"They didn't socialize much, the pair of them. She's some sort of doctor, still working with the baby on the way. I figured Norman was retired. He would come and go at all hours of the day."

"I knew there was something wrong with him. He gave me the creeps."

"Norman? He seemed like such a quiet, sweet guy. Used to help Mrs. Harrison and some of the older people on the block. You know, ran errands, mowed lawns, made minor repairs."

"The kids liked him-- he was like a big kid himself. Man, to think what might have happened!"

"It's always the quiet ones."

The report had gone out that Norman's prints were the only ones found in the murder house, beside Mrs. Harrison's. He changed from a person of interest to a likely suspect, and further instructions were given for all agencies that he was to be approached with extreme caution and taken into custody.

By the time Norman turned on the radio, it was the concert hour; the news would be broadcast again at 9 pm, and 40 minutes from home he was still oblivious to the horrible turn of events awaiting. It started raining after dark and he was already battling fatigue.

_I hope Connie's at work. I just want to catch up on my sleep-- what's that?_

Behind him, the lights of a police car blazed. Flashes of red and blue through the rainy darkness flashed in the rearview, and he slowed down to let the car pass. There was a blare of sirens and the car stuck on his tail. _Great! What now? I wasn't speeding._

He eased the car onto the shoulder, and parked on the gravel with the police right behind. Quickly, he fished the registration and insurance cards out of the glove compartment, and pulled out his wallet for his license and the usual routine. Strangely, no one came to his window; the officer remained in his car, probably getting his rain slicker on and calling in the plates.

A second car patrol pulled up in front of his, from out of nowhere, and another unmarked vehicle joined it.

_Must be a slow night._

He rolled down his window when he heard car doors slam, and was ready to present his papers even before he could be asked.

"Norman Bates?"

A highway patrolman appeared, reluctant to get too close.

"Y-yes, sir?"

The man took the handle suddenly and opened the door.

"Step out of the vehicle, please."

_Is he kidding? It's raining! He may have a raincoat, but I don't!_

Without thinking, Norman grabbed the door to keep from getting soaked.

"W--what's this about?"

"Out of the car!"

The voice came from a second officer, who was accompanied by a third. These last two had guns drawn and pointed in his direction.

"W-what's going on?"

The door was yanked out of his grip and the demands continued.

"Out of the car, now!"

_Connie must have been really pissed, to get the cops involved…_

Hands raised defensively, Norman slowly obliged, The portable radios carried by his three captors crackled with news.

"Car 418 en route."

"Suspect apprehended." one of the three on site replied.

"S-suspect? What is this?"

"Down you! Now! On your knees, hands behind your head!"

"What?"

"I said down!"

The first patrolman had also drawn his weapon and now shoved him to his knees. Dazed, Norman did as he was told, kneeling on the wet pavement, hands behind his head like a prisoner of war. Two more cars pulled up, like a scene from some action film. Still no one offered an explanation. One of the men started rifling through the back seat of Norman's car, another was calling for a truck to take the car to impound.

Their suspect made the unfortunate mistake of turning to look, insulted that his personal things were being handled and all this without a reason given.

"You can't do that!"

"Shut up, you!"

Norman started to lower his hands, and the cop nearest him responded by pushing him face down onto the wet gravel.

"Wait!" Norman argued as his hands were pulled behind him. "Th-this has got to b-be a mistake!"

The cuffs were snapped on before he could pull away.

"Norman Bates, you are hereby detained for questioning in the murder of Mrs. Gloria Harrison, and ordered to appear at headquarters forthwith."

_Murder?? This is insanity! I just saw her the other day-- _

"What are you t-talking about? She isn't dead!"

"Nice try, Bates. You wiped off the phone, but you missed a few spots. Your prints were all over the place. Keep resisting and you'll make it worse."

_No, no, no! _

Norman shook his head blindly. It couldn't be true-- this wasn't real, it wasn't possible. The police rushed around him, as the rain began to pour heavily. No one helped him up, no one explained anything, though the radios chattered back and forth about the capture, the media, the questions left unanswered. Norman was left lying in the mud, the victim once again in what could only be a nightmare of mistaken identity.

_Mrs. Harrison is dead?? Why would they think I had anything to do with it--_ _Connie must have told them I've been away--they must know-- my God, what's happening?_

An old terror surfaced. The rage and frustration swelled inside him and came out in the last avenue left. His denials fell on deaf ears. Protests, like his tears, washed away with the rain, and passed to oblivion without the slightest outside notice.


	15. Chapter 15

Shattered 15

Laney had spent the flight reading through those papers her colleague had taken the trouble to research and print. At first, when Sandy noticed, she had mixed feelings. She was ashamed for her behavior last night, though under the circumstances she still felt justified. It was embarrassing for everyone-- but the fact that her friend was showing some interest in reviewing the incriminating pages was a bit hopeful. Ignoring the empty seat between them, Sandy leaned in.

"Pretty horrible, isn't it?"

Laney shot her a sour glance and went back to scanning the pages.

"I think it's sad." she sighed.

"Hmm. Sad's a good way to describe him."

"Oh have a little sympathy, Sandy. It's obvious-- if you've bothered to read all this-- Norman wasn't in his right mind when all this happened."

"Oh? And he's cured now?"

"Honestly, you're such a jerk sometimes."

"I'm a jerk? You're the one who was--"

"Alright, alright, leave it alone. You don't know him like I do."

"Laney, you were kids! You don't know him at all. All this stuff happened years later-- his head was messed up--"

"I _know_ Sandy! He went through hell, but he's different now, I'm sure. He told me about it. He'd never hurt me."

Sandy shook her head in disapproval and disbelief. She was certain every one of that guy's victims probably thought the same thing. Even if he was somehow miraculously better now, Ms Chandler had no desire to ever see him again-- even from a distance.

The contents of those pages tugged at Laney's heart; the murders were awful enough-- murders always were-- but Norman's tortured mental condition, his inability to help himself, or even stop, and then being sentenced to live with the guilt. She almost felt responsible herself, if only for not being able to be there for him when he started losing it. Could she have made a difference? A moot point now, but she had vowed to be there for him once the tour was over. He was trying to do the right things, though some people would argue that 'cheating' on a pregnant wife' was a poor way to show it.

No, they couldn't understand. He was entitled to happiness, since he was proven to be mentally incompetent when he took those lives. If he had been sane, deliberate and without remorse, it would be different of course-- he'd be in for life or on death row someplace. But that wasn't Norman. He had been a victim, too, and she would stand by him now, as if she could make up for being absent so long.

The papers were put away, they arrived in LA and prepared for another whirlwind of interviews, appointments, dinner and book signings. There was an evening with the California Children's Book League to get through, and it wasn't until Laney retired to her room at midnight that she switched on the TV for background noise and relaxed.

She was coming out of the bathroom, drying her hair after a soak in the tub, when the television caught her attention.

"Our top story this evening, police have detained a suspect for questioning in the murder of an elderly Irving California resident." The screen was filled with an old stock news photo of Norman, from his arrest years ago. Laney stare in shock. The narrator's voice droned on. "Norman Bates, twice committed to high security mental facilities for a series of brutal murders spanning two decades, was apprehended by police earlier this evening on Interstate 60."

Laney shook her head from side to side, dumbfounded and afraid to hear anymore. It wasn't possible! The camera switched to a scene of Norman in handcuffs, dazed and muddied, surrounded by police as he was led into the station. It was soon replaced by two newsmen and a woman sitting at a studio desk.

"Bates' neighbor, retired school teacher Gloria Harrison was found this morning in her home, a victim the most vicious killing ever reported in this affluent and comfortable community. A Sherriff's department spokesperson gave the estimated time of death at less than six hours prior to discovery, but would not comment on specific cause of death."

A second newscaster took up the thread.

"Some of our viewers may remember the name of Norman Bates being in the news as recently as 5 years ago, when he was committed to the state psychiatric hospital following a killing spree that left four dead."

The third newscaster-- the woman-- interjected with an editorial of her own.

"Bob, Ray-- one has to wonder what he was doing out on the street again, with his violent past."

"Apparently, he was judged restored to sanity, and released into the care of a doctor who became his wife."

"He's married?" It was obviously news to the newsmen.

"Bates has not been arrested." the narration continued for the viewers. "However, police claim he was not fully co-operative when stopped by patrols. He is being questioned regarding his whereabouts during the time of the murder, and why his fingerprints were found in the dead woman's home."

Laney lowered herself onto the couch and was only vaguely aware that her phone was ringing. It was Sandy.

"I just heard." Ms Chandler's voice had a bite to it. "Do you still think he's harmless?"

"He wasn't him." Laney's voice was distant but certain. "The police said the victim had only been dead a few hours-- and Norman was with me last night, hundreds of miles away."

"Come on, Laney! It's just too wild of a co-incidence. He could have murdered her before he ever came to Oakland! Time of death was estimated at the scene-- they'll know more after an M.E. does an examine."

"Stop it, Sandy! It couldn't be him--" Laney had a sudden idea. "I'm his alibi, Sandy-- I have to call the sheriff's department."

"Are you out of your mind?? You can't go public! Your career would be over! You! One of the most popular children's authors in the country-- in the world!! How is that going to look-- admitting you spent the night with a married man, suspected of murder!" "Suspected-- not guilty."

"Even if he had nothing to do with this, by some bizarre chance-- he is still a murderer-- the world knows it."

"I've got to help him. I'll send a lawyer--"

"Don't get involved! He's got other proof he was out of town when she was killed-- IF that was the case. The hotel will have a record, a credit charge or something on file-- even a surveillance tape from the front desk."

"To say nothing of a security guard and a couple of cops, thanks to you."

"Look, I'll make some calls-- you just stay out of it!"

There was no way in hell Laney would stay out of it, career or not, but she let Sandy hang up thinking she'd be a good girl. Until she could think straight, she just sat and stared at the screen. Those geniuses of the media had wasted no time; a hasty collection of photos and newsreel records of Norman's haunted past and crimes had been assembled for a 'retrospective'. Guilty or not, he was being crucified.

Norman sat alone in an interrogation room, elbows resting on the table and wrists stiff in cuffs. Knotted hands hid his face, shutting out the sight of the mirror on the opposite wall. Through its one-way surface, several police and investigators studied him. Some came for a quick look at the celebrity madman, others observed him more closely for their own purposes. None of them could imagine what was going on in his mind.

_No, no, no….it can't be real-- this isn't happening! How can Mrs. Harrison be dead?? Where's Connie? What do they want? Dear God, please let it be a bad dream. Oh Laney, Laney, Laney. If you were here everything would be alright. Please don't hate me-- I haven't done anything--_

The door opened suddenly, and two men walked in. Norman didn't dare look up. One set a small recorder up and then left. The other took a seat opposite the prisoner and waited in silence.

Norman sniffed a few times, and timidly peered over his fists with red-rimmed eyes.

"Good evening, Mr. Bates. I'm Detective Brian Ackley. I'm working on the investigation."

"W-what investigation?" Norman's mind was too troubled to focus.

"The murder of Mrs. Harrison. Remember? Your neighbor?"

"W-what do you w-want with me? I didn't d-do anything."

"Well, that's what we're here to find out. You've got to admit, with your history and your prints being found in her house, it does look bad for you."

"M-my prints?"

"All over the kitchen. Any idea how they got there?"

Norman shook his head slowly, and this gradually changed to a nod.

"I h-helped her. Last week. A c-cabinet d-door was coming off the h-h-hinge…:

Outside, another man shook his head.

"I don't think that was the only thing coming unhinged."

"Have one of the boys at the scene check it out. See if a hinge looks like it's been scratched or replaced."

Ackley made a note in his book at the same time. He knew even if a cupboard had been repaired, it was a far cry from an alibi.

"Helped out a lot, did you? Around her house?"

Norman lowered his hands, keeping fists balled but setting them on the table.

"S-sometimes. She d-doesn't have anyone to l-look after her, and do little th-things like that."

Ackley glanced at his tablet again.

"You have a stammer." the detective observed. He hadn't noticed a mention of that in the records.

"S-since I w-was little. Not all the time, Only when I'm n-nervous."

"And you're nervous now?"

"W-wouldn't you b-be? I d-didn't hurt Mrs. Harrison. It w-wasn't me."

"Who was it? Your mother?"

"W-what?"

"That was your problem in the past, wasn't it? When you were arrested the first time, it was your mother who told the police everything."

"I w-was sick. Not in my r-right mind."

"And five years ago. When you killed that old woman, those girls and your employee? What was it then?"

"I was…s-sick." Norman wouldn't dare mention that he had willfully killed Duke, in self defense. Or Mrs- Miss- Spool in a moment of-- what was it? _You've killed on your own, without mother's help. They know that._

Outside the one-way glass, another investigator shook his head.

"This is going to take all night, if he keeps stuttering."

Ackley leveled his grey eyes at the prisoner.

"Where were you last night?"

Norman tensed. He didn't want to implicate Laney in anything, and tried to sort out the situation without having to get her involved. Something else, just as troublesome, came to mind.

"W-where's C-Connie?"


	16. Chapter 16

Shattered 16

When Ackley relayed Connie's situation, how she had gone into premature labor and was in ICU, Norman merely stared and nodded. His flat affect did not impress the authorities as being in anyway concerned with his wife's condition.

"D-did she tell you, I w-was away?"

"She hasn't spoken with us yet. Where were you?"

"O-Oakland. I drove up t-two days ago."

"What for?"

"To v-visit an old f-friend." Norman wanted to tear out his tongue to keep from stammering. He felt weak, vulnerable-- and stupid. _They probably think it's a sign of guilt._

"This friend got a name?"

"I d-don't want her involved."

Ackley smirked at the mention of 'her'. It just kept getting juicer.

"You don't have much of a choice, if this woman can place you in Oakland at the time of the murder."

"W-what happened to Mrs. H-Harrison? W-was she robbed?"

"Only of her life. And you say you didn't do it."

"I d-didn't."

"But your prints are all over the place."

"It w-wasn't me! I t-told you about b-being there to fix the c-c-cabinet."

"You'd better give us that name, and prove to us you weren't even in town when the murder occurred. Then you can go home."

"I st-stayed at the Park Gr-Grande." Norman stated for the record. "Ch-check the hotel. I p-paid by credit c-card. Th-they can v-vouche for me."

Ackley frowned, and slapped his note pad closed.

"Have it your way, Bates. But I'm telling you now, unless there's someone there who remembers seeing your face, a hotel receipt is only going to prove your credit card was in Oakland."

Ackley's chair made a harsh groan across the floor as he rose to leave. A moment later, Norman was alone again and free to rest his head on the table in despair.

_It has to be enough-- someone will remember. At least maybe that security guard, in the bedroom. Oh Laney, I'm so sorry! You'll be so worried. But I won't get you involved. I won't! I promise! Connie will back up my story. I told her I was going to Oakland. They'll see the note. Oh, God help me._

Warman and Ackley bumped against traffic as they hurried along the hall.

"I've got a man checking the Harrison kitchen, for that cabinet repair."

"Think that's on the level?"

"It might explain the prints. Or be enough to put doubt in a jury's mind. But it does place him on a familiar footing with Harrison, and there was no evidence of forced entry, so she knew her attacker, or at least let him in."

"Or left the door unlocked by accident. Crime of opportunity."

"Yeh, like some random psycho was going up and down the street trying doorknobs until he got lucky. Anyway, the doc just called. The Missus is awake so now's our chance to get aome answers."

"Or a few more questions."

They were out in the lot now, which was crowded with cars despite the hour. It was still raining slightly, though the chill air was something of a relief from the stuffy offices and recycled AC.

"They get anything from the car?" Ackley turned up his collar as they skipped puddles to the unmarked vehicle.

"No official report yet, but I got the 'unofficial' from Brooks. He said there was nothing out of the ordinary. They want to get a warrant for the computer, in case he's got anything incriminating stored. Oh, and there was one thing. A box of kid stuff."

They slid into their seats with Warman behind the wheel.

"Kid stuff? What's that supposed to mean? Porn?"

"You wish. No, just some little pictures and notes, toys and postcards that look like something you'd empty out of an old dresser drawer. Bates as a kid, and some little girl."

"Got a name on the girl?"

"Elena Kirkpatrick. They were working on a background search, just in case Bates started his hobby early. If she pops up as a 'missing person' we might have a cold case on our hands."

"Something to hold him on, anyway. How long you think before he realizes he's not under arrest and can leave?"

"I don't get the impression he does a lot of thinking for himself. He's like a kid-- a wet-behind-the-ears teenager, lost and confused. Let's get a coffee."

Dr. Corwin had remained on duty in order to be present when the detectives returned. Connie Bates had stabilized and the pregnancy was no longer under immediate threat. He felt it would be best for all concerned to let the investigators get what they were after. Having police present in the ward was proving too distracting to the rest of the staff.

The pair were shown to the patient's private room, and cautioned not to upset her. In short, keep the interview brief and if the slightest rise in blood pressure was monitored on the bedside equipment, they would have to leave. Agreeing with all stipulations, Ackley and Warman were allowed to approach the bed.

Connie opened tired eyes, catching sight of her callers beyond the oxygen tubes and IV lines that flanked her.

"Mrs. Bates, I'm detectives Len Warman and this is my partner, Steve Ackley. We need to ask you a few questions."

She nodded and observed their movements through half-closed eyes. One stepped to the foot of the bed, the other opened a notebook. They were both perhaps 40, of similar height and coloring, to eyes that couldn't focus.

"We're investigating the murder of your neighbor Mrs. Gloria Harrison. You have our sympathies. I understand you and your husband were friendly with her?"

Another nod. Connie's mouth felt dry and when she spoke her voice was raspy.

"She had no one to help her. Norman ran errands for her or did chores."

"Where was your husband last night?"

Connie shook her head slightly.

"I'm not sure. He said he was going up to Oakland for a few days."

"Does he have family there?"

"He has no family."

"A friend, perhaps?"

"I don't know why Oakland. My husband never had many friends. You don't think he had anything to do with this, do you?"

"We don't know, Mrs. Bates. But his absence does pose the question."

"He wouldn't have hurt her. He's not like that." _Not anymore…_

"I understand how you feel. But it's important to establish his actions and location before we can eliminate him as a suspect."

"Mrs. Bates, how has he been acting lately? Is he under any sort of strain? Doing anything unusual?"

"We've had a few….. disagreements lately. We're both under a bit of stress with the pregnancy. But you don't think it could be anything that serious, do you?"

"Probably not." The speaker smiled benignly and tucked his notepad into a breast pocket. "And I'm sure if there had been any warning signs of trouble, you would have seen it. We'll check out everything we can, and anything he might tell us, just to be sure."

"One more thing." The second man spoke. "Dispatch said you're the one who phoned in the original complaint. You'd gotten a phone call from Mrs. Harrison's house-- a hang up?" He knew the old woman had been dead for awhile by the time that call was made; there was no need to mention the fact it had certainly been the murderer. "Have you been getting any similar calls?"

Connie's eyes grew wide in shock. Was someone stalking them? Or could it have been Norman?

"My God, what's happening?" she gasped.

The detectives climbed back into the car, keeping small talk at a minimum until they'd left the hospital lot. Too many reporters would pay some eavesdropping schmuck for anything that was overheard. Ackley sipped his cold coffee and grimaced.

"What's your take?"

"Not a lot to hold Bates on but doubt. Until we get word from the ME on exact TOD, and proof that he was out of town, if it exists---"

"If he walks, he's gone."

"Don't think I haven't thought of that. The officers that brought him in, they planning on charging him with resisting?"

"Hopefully. Hell it's something. But something really bothers me."

"What? More than the lousy weather, shitty hours and ugly media?"

"I mean, I really like Bates for this. It would put him away for life. We got prints, similarities with his past killings, and what a history."

"But?"

"It's too…different somehow. I mean, he left the scene a mess. In the past he was almost meticulous. That's what kept him free for so long. No bodies, no crime scenes."

"Yeh, but remember, investigations have come a long way since then. And after all, he was being a good little boy, cleaning up after his mother so she wouldn't get in trouble." Warman's partner shivered after this statement. Murder scenes he could deal with, but the psychology of a murderous mama's boy?

"And the victim. His little-old-lady friends were mother figures. You think he was planning to 'keep' this one and something went wrong?"

"Norman went wrong."

"The rest of his victims were girls and women-- they had a sexual component."

"Except the two men he killed to protect mom."

Warman's phone rang and he just handed it off to Ackley to handle.

"Yeh, what's up? We're on our way back."

"You talk to the wife?" the caller questioned.

"Yeh and I think she's got her doubts about hubby, too."

"You got kids, Ackley?"

"What? No-- you know that, Doug."

"Okay, so the name Laney O'Donnell won't mean anything to you."

"Should it?"

"Hope you're sitting down. Bates' young female friend we did a trace on? Elena Kirkpatrick? She grew up to be a writer of children's books-- Laney O'Donnell, and pretty famous I'm told."

"So no missing person."

"Here's the kicker. She was in Oakland doing a book signing stint two days ago."

"At least she won't be hard to find. Thanks. See you in 10."

Ackley closed the phone and passed it back, but Warman was still in the dark. His friend smirked.

"Looks like we found Bates' alibi witness. You're gonna love this."


	17. Chapter 17

Shattered 17

Like so many times before, Norman had been left alone.

This time it was in a cold, utilitarian little 'interrogation room' at police headquarters. No explanation, no visitors-- just Norman, a table and a couple of chairs. Of course, and as he suspected, the large mirror on the wall opposite provided a gallery of prying eyes. He didn't care, and briefly wondered what they expected to see.

But he wouldn't move from his chair. No matter how long he was left there, or how desperate he felt. _Not_ e_ven just to stretch my legs._ _They could walk in and accuse me of attempted escape. If they can accuse me of a murder I have nothing to do with, they could accuse me of anything._

So he sat, leaning over the table, hiding his face in his hands, even sobbing and covering his head. He didn't care what anyone thought. Except Laney. _She must have heard by now. It'll be all over the news, and she must know. Oh just don't let her hate me-- don't let her--_

An odd sensation of peace came over him. He laid his cheek against the table, cold and clammy against his skin. His hands were still in cuffs, and he held them on his lap. To his audience it would seem he had fallen asleep, or given up hope. Instead, he was happy and safe, inside his head. Remembering the lovely night recently passed, in his beloved's arms.

The way she looked at him, the things she said-- the way she touched him, kissed him, and moved her body against his; that was real. Those feelings they shared, the love they confessed, that was the reality he chose to believe and relive.

_She knows I'm innocent. She knows. What do I care what they say, or accuse me of? Even if they get the whole world to believe it, I know the truth, and so does Laney. She loves me for __me__. But I don't want to go back to the hospital. I don't want to be alone when I can be with her._

"You've been a naughty boy, Norman."

That wasn't his voice-- it was someone else. The door closed-- _did it even open?--_ and he pulled his head up to see that detective again. The man was smiling. Norman raised his cuffed hands, wiped his eyes with shaky fingers and sat up straight the way he'd always been taught to do in the presence of authority.

"I d-didn't kill anybody." he repeated.

"No, I don't think you did. Maybe." _This time._ Ackley took a seat and slid a computer print out across the table. Norman glanced down at too many little rows of printed text, unable to focus.

"W-what's that?"

"From the Park Grande. Your receipt, and signature. That's your signature, isn't it?"

Norman lifted the page and studied it closely.

"Y-yes. I've b-been telling you the tr-truth. C-can I go now, pl-please?"

Ackley lowered his eyes. The guy was pathetic. Not the sort of 'human garbage pathetic' that he'd sat across from a few hundred times before in that damn room, or one like it. This guy was a genuine loser. An adult with the social skills and confidence of a 12 year old, and a case history to rival Frankenstein. A monster and murderer, and a scared little kid who just wanted to hide under the bed. Maybe Ackley had been thinking that the State couldn't do enough to exact justice on such a creep; now he imagined nothing the system did could be any worse what he was living with, anyway.

If Bates was acting, he deserved an Oscar.

Ackley sniffed indifferently, and slid a second page across to him.

"Recognize her?"

Norman took it up in trembling fingers. It was a print out of Laney's driver's license, enlarged, complete with picture.

_No, no, no! You leave her alone!!_

"Laney." His voice was soft, even gentle, and full of sorrow. Then a terrible thought came to him and he raised horrified eyes. "Is s-she alright?? Oh God, w-what happened? Her plane? Oh, pl-please God-- no!"

"Relax, Bates. It's just a photo for ID." Ackley was amused by the reaction, especially since news of his own wife's near miscarriage hardly raised an eyebrow. "So you admit knowing her?"

Warman and about half a dozen other interested parties were lined up just outside the one-way glass. They didn't want to miss a moment of the show.

"Y-yes. That's L-Laney O'Donnell. Th-the friend I was v-visiting."

"We haven't spoken to her yet, to verify--"

"No!" Norman stretched both hands across the table, stopping short of grabbing the startled Ackley by the hand. "N-no, please! I d-don't want her involved. Pl-please! J-just…please."

Outside Warman shook his head.

"This guy's better than a 3 ring circus. Psycho killer, married-- with a kid on the way, suspected of another murder and he's worried about his girlfriend."

A middle-aged woman on the detective's left eased closer. She was a psychiatrist, called in for evaluation.

"Maybe you can let me see him now?" she whispered.

"Doc, let me ask you." Warman ignored the request, having questions of his own. "What do you make of him?"

"Well, I can't make any real evaluations from here-" she shrugged. "But at first glance? He's scared, that's for sure. Paranoid, but that's been documented. As far as a dangerous sociopath?"

"That's a matter of record, too. You think he's cured?"

"The mitigating causes, the triggers of his original psychosis have been removed, more or less. He's still psychologically crippled-- he always will be. But it's just possible he's doing the best he can, on the stunted personality he's got."

"Stunted personality?" That was a new one.

"Do you think the pair of you-- you and Bates-- had the same up bringing? You are a product of those formative years as much as he is, or anyone else for that matter. You may have had a dysfunctional family-- most of us do-- but you persevered, and for whatever reason attained the rank of detective with commendations. Norman Bates has had none of that. He still struggles to overcome what he's been. You want an easy answer? There isn't any."

They were both distracted from the conversation by the scene through the glass.

"Look, Bates. I'd like to say 'sure, we won't involve her'. But it's a little late for that. You're the one who got her involved in the first place.

"No, no, no!" Norman held his fists to his eyes. "Sh-she's my fr-friend! I don't w-want her h-hurt."

"Come on, she's a big girl. And she's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Norman made a sound, indistinct, and Ackley leaned a bit closer.

"Isn't she?"

"Yes." He was crying now, and the detective was surprised by those tortured eyes when they looked over clasped hands. "Pl-please, you d-don't understand. She's important. S-she's a writer. Th-this w-would be b-bad, f-for her--- to be m-mentioned in the n-news." _I don't want her touched by any of this ugliness!_

"I take it your wife doesn't know about her?"

"What?"

"See? That's what I mean-- you've been a naughty boy. Your wife's in the hospital, carrying your kid. And you're off screwing some--"

"It wasn't screwing!!" Norman slammed his hands down on the table, rage flashing in his eyes at the accusation. "We're lovers! We made love! Is that what you wanted to hear? When you say I was killing my neighbor, I was in bed with a woman who isn't my wife!" His stammer was noticeably absent something Ackley, and the hidden audience realized. "Connie isn't m-my real wife." The rage was over and Norman moaned sadly. "Yes, we got m-married. She w-wanted a baby. B-but I don't. I w-want a wife." _I want Laney._

Ackley frowned. He didn't especially want to hear about this creep's love life, though the reality that there were two women out there with no problem screwing a psycho-- or 'making love' with him-- was a bit disturbing. No wonder so many women ended up on a slab.

"Okay." Ackley sighed. "You have to understand. We need someone to say they saw you or they were with you in Oakland during the time we know Mrs. Harrison was killed. Simple as that, Bates. We need a statement from your girlfriend to rule you out as a suspect. We'll try to keep it out of the media. We just need to talk to her. Your wife doesn't even need to know the details."

"I d-don't care if she d-does. Sh-she's going to find out. I'm l-leaving her, I d-decided that even b-before seeing Laney again. W-we'll get a d-divorce."

Ackley nodded. At least that's one thing he's bank on about Bates' future. He doubted Connie would want to stick around once it all hit the fan.

Warman shook his head while his colleagues whispered their observations to one another.

"What a piece of work. All this guy cares about is his girlfriend. Not even himself. And that's a pretty crappy way to treat the pregnant wife."

"Makes perfect sense to Norman Bates." the doctor explained. "At least this time he's not disposing of his troubles with a knife. He sees this Laney woman as the love of his life, his hope, whatever he needs, she's it. The wife appears to be just another image of control, and oppression. Like his mother."

Warman couldn't be bothered with it now. With Bates likely cleared of the charges, if his girlfriend's word was verified, they lost their prime suspect. What angst and drama remained was Norman's problem; he and Ackley still had an open case and a murderer to find. He pressed the button that flashed a small light in the adjoining room, to alert his partner. The interrogation was, for a moment, at an end.

The door opened, and Warman appeared with the doctor in tow.

"This is Dr. Feldman. she'll take it from here."

Ackley nodded and started to rise, but Norman reached out suddenly to grab the man's hand in both of his own.

"P-please. Pr-promise me. You won't m-make it public. Y-you won't say her name for the p-papers. I d-don't w-want to get her in tr-trouble!"

"We'll take every precaution." Ackley nodded and eased his hand free.

Without another word, he and Warman disappeared. Norman was not convinced, and pressed his hands to his face, rocking slowly in his chair.

"Hello, Norman." The doctor took the detective's newly vacated seat and put a small box of tissues on the table. "I'm Dr. Susanna Feldman. They've asked me to have a few words with you, before they let you go."

Norman sniffed, nodded, and finally reached for a tissue without looking up.

"Thank you." was all he said.


	18. Chapter 18

Shattered 18

Last call was announced. The crowd at Manny's Place had dwindled to a dozen, typical for this time of night-- or morning. The couple in the corner, laughing and apparently drunk, settled their tab and bumped their way toward the door. Three or four solitary customers at the bar nodded acknowledgment for last call and someone else ordered 'one for the road' The bartender shouted his goodnights to 'Pete' and 'George' as they left with friends.

One of the new faces that came in that evening was still in a sociable mood. He leaned on the bar and eyed the barmaid as she cleaned the empty glasses and tips from the tables. Four a.m. never came fast enough for her. The stranger tossed another few bucks on her tray as she passed by and then turned his attention to the TV on the front wall.

"Christ. What a scumbag."

Behind the bar Mike Fagan was setting up for tomorrow, and stopped to refresh the stranger's glass when asked. He craned his neck to see the special edition news flickering on the screen.

"Want me to change it?"

"No, no, no, turn it up."

Mike shrugged and popped the volume up a couple notches. It was the same 'hot news flash' that had been regurgitated all night. Another local boy gets his 10 minutes of fame and his neighbor gets dead.

"Can you believe that?" the stranger snorted. "That bastard kills a dozen people or more, and yet here he is, out on the same streets as you and me."

Mike stopped his routine long enough to watch. This customer had been free with his money all night, and it would be nice if he became a regular. A little schmooze time might help.

"I heard about him." Mike nodded. "I got family up in Fairvale. I remember that business a few years ago. How the hell do you let someone like that walk?"

"Some asshole doctors playing God. If they say someone's no longer a threat, after some slime attorney cops him an insanity plea, they're turned loose. What a racket."

"He looks like a weasel. Who'd he kill?"

"Some defenseless old broad. Sliced her six ways to Sunday. Oughta take the sack of shit out and put a bullet in his friggin' head now and save the tax payers' money."

"Well, at least they got him."

"Yeh." The stranger emptied his glass. "Guess we'll all sleep easier tonight."

"Whenever you're ready, Norman." Dr. Feldman waited patiently for the former suspect to compose himself. He went through several tissues, still without raising his head.

"Are they r-really going to let me g-go?"

"They need to locate your friend first. Once she gives a statement that verifies you were elsewhere, they'll have no reason to detain you."

"Detain." It sounded funny to Norman. He peered out from dark tousles of hair and held his wrists in demonstration. "Is th-that what they c-call this?"

"I'm not sure why they've left them on. I'll have them removed. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Water w-would be nice, th-thank you."

She glanced back at the mirror.

"Could we have a couple bottles of water, and someone to take off the cuffs?" Then she looked back at Norman. "It'll just be a moment."

Again he found some amusement.

"You talk to a m-mirror and get your wish. I talk to a mirror and t-they say I'm crazy."

"You feeling more relaxed?"

"I'm not st-stuttering as much, if that's what you mean."

An officer came in with the two requested bottles, unlocked Norman's cuffs, and took them away with him. Once they were alone again, Norman sighed and shook his head.

"I didn't hurt Mrs. Harrison. I would n-never do that."

"I believe you. And once your friend Ms. O'Donnell gives a statement…."

Those dark, troubled eyes betrayed his fear.

"Do they have to? Do they need to bother her now?"

"I'm sure she's heard about it on the news, and she's probably worried. She'll want to help you, don't you think?"

He nodded dumbly, then sighed and sat back, as some of the tension left him. Laney would want to help, he was sure of it.

"Doctor, am I a bad person? Do you think it's wrong that I don't seem concerned about C-Connie?"

"I'm not here to judge you, Norman. Are you worried about her?"

"No. Or the baby. It's like that was all a bad dream and I woke up."

"It's probably best that you move on, then."

"Yes. I think so. She was my doctor, a psychologist, like you. In the hospital. I thought we were in love. I thought she could love me for me."

"What changed?"

"She tricked me. She just wanted to have a baby. She even agreed before we married, that there would be no kids. I would never have married her otherwise."

"It wasn't an accident? The pregnancy, I mean."

"No, no. She did it deliberately. She told me so. She said she had to lie to me, that there was no other way."

"Then I think you are certainly making the right choice by leaving. It was very unfair of her. But tell me about Laney. Do you think you'd like to marry her?"

"Oh yes!" His eyes lit up at the thought. "If she'll have me now. If I haven't ruined her life." _That's silly! She loves you-- _

There was a knock at the door, and a young woman stuck her head into the room.

"Detective Warman wanted me to get you. Mr. Bates has a phone call."

Norman couldn't remember how he got to the phone-- he didn't care. All he knew was that at 4 am he was being ushered into another small room to use a wall phone. Could it be Connie? Had she gotten him a lawyer? There was no furniture in the room, except a narrow table on the far wall, and a metal chair near the phone, for his use. He was directed toward this, and then given some privacy.

"Hello?"

"Norman?"

It was Laney.

"Oh my God, Laney!" Norman's knees buckled and he folded to the floor, knocking against the chair and ending up sitting against the wall. The detectives were listening in on another line, and were surprised by the noise.

"Norman? Are you alright?" Laney heard it, too.

"Oh Laney! I didn't want them to call you-- "

"They didn't call me, I called them-- I saw it on the news when they picked you up-- oh, are you alright?"

"Laney, I'm so afraid you'll get in trouble." _Your career could be ruined just for knowing me!_

"I'm coming, sweetheart."

"What?"

"I've promised them I would be there tomorrow and make a full statement in person. Already shifted my schedule so don't you dare say no."

"Laney!" Norman's tears started welling up again, as he cradled his head on his knees. "I love you so much!"

It was almost more than the investigators could stomach. They persisted in monitoring the call in case anything was suggested that would impugn the case. Couldn't have Bates prompting his lover with a 'story' she should agree to tell. They didn't really have to worry-- Bates wasn't about to endanger his lover and have her lie. It wasn't necessary, apparently.

"I love you too, angel. I've spoken with a detective Warman already. They want to keep you there until I arrive. Can you wait for me?"

"I can wait. For you I'll wait 30 years."

Ackley was seriously hoping it would be a lot sooner than that.

"If you need a lawyer, I have two ready to call-- "

"You. I need you. I don't need a lawyer, Laney. Just you,"

"I even have the name of the two policemen last night-- and the security guard. In case they need more eye witnesses."

"Oh my God. I didn't tell them about that!"

"We won't, if we don't have to. But be brave, angel. I'm on my way."

"How did I ever live without you? Be careful-- travel safe-- oh just to hear your voice, Laney. I love you!"

"Me, too! Oh, I miss you!"

"I don't want to ever be without you---"

The phone started to crackle.

"The battery on my cell! It took me so long to get through-- they kept asking questions--- Norman?"

"I'm here. I'm always here for you."

"Better go before we're---"

But the reception was cut off.

"Laney? Laney?"

Warman disconnected their end of the line. All those in the room were relieved to have it over, but disappointed that their prime suspect did not pan out.

"So we cut him loose?" Ackley asked. Dr. Feldman shook her head.

"He's still in an emotionally unstable state." she advised. "Find him a couch or even an empty cell. Let him sleep for awhile. Don't lock him up, just let him sleep."

"Why should we keep him?" Warman wasn't convinced. "He's not our problem now."

"Actually, he is." she explained. "You dragged him in here, after a highway stop that shook him up. He was accused of murder, and now the woman he thinks is his only hope is coming directly here tomorrow. Sending him home to an empty house, his neighbors probably ready to shun him, his closest neighbor dead and her house a crime scene. His wife's in the hospital-- not that it's an issue, but being home will remind him of some guilt-- he's still in a fragile state, and for his own well being I would advise he be kept here for the night."

The matter was settled, and blankets were brought to a cot in an empty cell. Norman was assured he was not under arrest, but should at least lie down and get a little sleep while he could. Warman and Ackley had by then turned their backs on the scene and headed off to continue the investigation elsewhere.


	19. Chapter 19

Shattered 19

The cell door was kept open, and Norman was left by himself. He reclined on top of the blankets they'd laid out for him, and it wasn't long before he'd curled up protectively on his side and lost himself in troubled thoughts.

_Poor Laney! We're hardly back together and I've ruined your life- I just know I have. If the detectives want to know about those policemen- everyone will know you were sleeping with a married man. All your fans- maybe- your career will be finished. How could I ever make it up to you? Oh God, why did this have to happen now?_

But Laney _was_ coming.

She knew the price, and she was coming. She must have realized what it could cost her, even if the media never caught on to their night together. There would be gossip, certainly. A cop, or clerk, or security guard who knew the details- maybe even someone who decided to make a buck and sell the story to a tabloid. Those rags were always looking for some celebrity to scandalize. or some dirty little secrets to expose. Apparently, there were things more important to Laney O'Donnell than career or reputation.

And privately, Norman Bates was proud to be one of those things.

He tried to feel confident- tried to believe beyond a doubt that the feelings she professed were as unshakeable as those he felt for her. Another man might not have been so hesitant to believe such a thing, so readily. But another man had not been through all that Norman had, including a marriage that started hopefully and ended quickly in betrayal and disaster. Naturally, this caused his thoughts to eventually turn to Connie.

Even before Mrs. Harrison's murder, and Laney's reappearance in his life, Norman was determined to leave her. Nothing would change that, though he had intended to slip away with much less fanfare. The only thing that had mattered before was getting away; now he had an undeniably better reason. Escaping domestic hell was made an even greater necessity, in having a peaceful haven awaiting him. He hugged himself as he lay on the cot, and even smiled to think of those other arms waiting to embrace him. He wouldn't let himself think of any other possibility.

Connie carried his child. A being he did not recognize as anything else but the unfortunate lasting result of a moment of passion. _Let them think I'm a monster for denying its existence- and leaving that woman who took my name for the wrong reason. I don't care. They don't know what she did- they'll all take her side. _The identity of 'they' and 'them' didn't matter- it could be all of society, all of the world- all of the nameless, faceless people who had never shown him much kindness, anyway.

It still didn't provide him with a solution to something more immediate. What was he going to do about Connie now? Go see her in the hospital, play the role of spouse once more just to tell her it was over? She must have known something was wrong, that the whole sham was falling apart. Waiting out all those months had been horrible, and after LaBelle, how could she imagine he would keep suffering in silence?

_Tomorrow Laney will be here. Wait-it's already tomorrow. Before the day's out, I'll see her again. Maybe I should ask her. Any decision I make from now on will involve her, just like any she makes will involve me. That's the way it's supposed to be, isn't it? In a marriage. Two people trusting each other. I don't want to see Connie again, but I'll have to. And I don't want Laney to see her at all. I should go home and shave, and change my clothes. Take a shower…._ He was rambling.

The murder, the police, his hours in custody- none of that mattered now. Mundane thoughts occupied his mind now; thoughts of looking clean and presentable when he and Laney met again and walked out of that place together. But he was tired so he decided to close his eyes and have a short nap before heading home. It turned out he needed sleep more than he realized, and twenty minutes of rest turned into hours.

Connie Bates had trouble resting that night. Her main concern of course was the baby. The doctors had spoken to her at length at the possibility of inducing labor once she was stabilized. She was a few weeks away from her due date, but they were certain the baby was healthy enough to survive the premature delivery. With the recent shock to her system and her nervous condition, it was the lesser of two evils.

She spent considerable time in those sleepless hours mulling over her marriage- or more precisely, wondering what there was left to it. At first she had been upset with Norman's absence, worried about him and wanting those broad shoulders to lean on, mainly so she wouldn't have to deal with ugly things herself. That weakness made her sick; it was a dependency she would rather do without. It was easier than recognizing her selfishness.

That sentiment gradually gave way to a sensation of fear, not unlike that curious twinge that caused her to lock her bedroom door that last night he was in the house. She began wondering if her husband could have had something to do with poor Mrs. Harrison's death. This fear- another weakness- was finally replaced with something more powerful, in the form of anger.

She recounted how irresponsible and thoughtless he had been to leave for Oakland in the first place. If he had nothing to do with the murder it would be an extremely odd coincidence. And if he was innocent, he should have been home with her and the baby. He should have never left a woman in so vulnerable a state, when anything might have happened regarding the pregnancy. Who could she rely on, if not a husband? Who was going to take care of the house? He owed her that much- she had given him a marriage, stability, a life free from the hospital- she was the responsible party, the foundation of his sanity- she practically owned him! It became impossible to excuse the likelihood that perhaps all the stress and pressure he may have been under could have pushed him over the edge again. Norman was not entitled to be away; that sudden absence could not be justified.

And now, Mrs. Harrison was dead.

_It must have been Norman. It had to be. There is simply no other explanation for what happened. It's too great a coincidence. He's still dangerous- and I won't let him harm the baby!_

Before the sun broke the horizon, she had made up her mind. She would contact those detectives, and have them see about a restraining order._ How stupid! If he's guilty, they'll arrest him and he'll be kept away from us anyway!_ But what if- by some bizarre quirk of fate- he wasn't guilty? Or the police were sloppy and didn't arrest him right away? The restraining order was still a good idea.

She never expected to see him sitting beside her bed at 9 am.

He'd been there half an hour, just watching her sleep. He hadn't been home to shower, shave or change. He woke up on that cot in the cell and realized how long he'd been sleeping. Quickly, he decided he would deal with Connie first and have that part of the past done with before Laney ever arrived. He was resolved to keep them apart; this was his problem, and he would deal with it alone. _Laney should be free of anything ugly- lord knows, I've gotten her in enough trouble already. _

"Norman?" Connie drew a nervous breath as she whispered the name. One shaky hand reached for the button to call the nurse- but it wasn't there.

"They know I'm here." Norman explained. "I promised them I wouldn't be long."

"What are you doing here?" _Where are the police?_

"Are you….better?"

"Yes- no! Norman, they're looking for you." It was more of a threat than a concern. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"You mean the police? They found me. And they let me go."

"What?"

"I had nothing to do with what happened to Mrs. Harrison."

"Where were you?"

"Oakland. I told you. And last night, at the police station. Connie, I can't go through this anymore."

"What are you talking about? Go through what?"

"This." He spread his hands as if it was explanation enough. "I can't keep pretending. I won't. I don't love you, Connie. And I know you don't love me. I don't want the baby- I want a divorce."

"Norman." She sounded like Mother now. Like she knew better- like she could second guess him. "You're not making sense."

"No, that's the one thing I'm sure of. I'm finally making sense, all you need to do is listen."

His tone was calm, unthreatening- even polite. It was a strangely chilling voice that might easily inspire fear.

"You're my husband." Again, she sounded as if there should be no argument; she was right and he had better agree. "I know you're upset about … the other night. I'm sorry, but talking divorce because of it-"

"No. That was all my fault. If I hadn't been so slow to act, I wouldn't have been around for dinner at LaBelle. It just wouldn't have happened. That isn't the problem. It's only part of it."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not happy. I'll never be happy…this way. You have the baby you wanted- you traded that for my trust, and our marriage. You lied to me to get your way. I've been thinking it over and planning for months, I want to go away and start over, and a divorce is the last thing I will ever ask you for."

Connie could not believe what she was hearing. More importantly, she couldn't believe her husband had been picked up by the police- and released. She was satisfied to believe he had killed Mrs. Harrison, lied his way out, fooled the police, and was every bit as sick and deadly as he had been 20 years ago. Either way, there was no possibility she could go on living with this person in her life- or anywhere near her child.

"Alright." She agreed with a nod. "I have no idea where you intend to go to 'start over', or even how you think you could. But as of this moment, I don't care about it. I won't contest the divorce, Norman. After everything that's happened-" _He'll just think I'm accepting the blame….. _"Go if you want. But you can never come back."

That was fine with him. He had no intention of ever acknowledging this miserable, unfortunate part of his life. She and her child would be as dead to his memory as Mother. He stood up suddenly, and for a moment Connie was afraid.

"You have nothing to worry about. I won't be back. You'll never see me again, the lawyers can handle all the details. I just want my freedom, and a chance to live my own life, free of the past, and far from California."

There were no words of regret, no farewells, no further attempts at communication. Norman turned and left the room feeling clean and renewed. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, and the nurses saw him smiling as he cheerfully wished them good bye. Connie felt relieved, only slightly ashamed that a second attempt at marriage had failed. She rubbed her belly softly and realized it was in fact the best resolution for everyone concerned.

Norman squinted in the bright sunlight as he hurried to his car. The police told him that Laney wouldn't arrive before noon. _Plenty of time to go back to the house, shower and move the rest of my things out._

A new day, full of promise, and the start of his own life, at last.


	20. Chapter 20

Shattered 20

Sandy Chandler was not amused.

Laney O'Donnell was her business partner, client and friend. They'd been through the gauntlet together, and had achieved real success after years of hard work. Laney was a household name- in some households- her books popular enough to be considered for a series of animated films. She was at the top of her game, the peak of success, and now it looked like she was throwing it all away for some childhood friend who was a psychopathic killer.

"There's a book deal in there, somewhere." Sandy thought aloud. She had in the meantime only thinly disguised her anger and concern, while changing their 'appearance' schedule and seeing to the travel arrangements. Fortunately, she was neither needed or wanted on this latest flight of fancy. Laney was going alone, would talk to the police, rescue her nutcase paramour and return the next day to resume her book-signing responsibilities- if she had any left once the story hit the news

"Don't get your panties in a bunch." Laney had cautioned her. "I'm doing the right thing, and if the world wants to condemn me for it, that's their problem. Norman's being falsely accused of murder, and I'm his alibi. Whether or not we spent the night together is nobody's business. If we'd only had supper and went separate ways, I'd still be his alibi and I'd still be doing this."

She was right, of course, and no matter what Sandy's personal opinion was of Norman Bates, she had to admit to a certain amount of pride in knowing her. Laney would have done as much for a total stranger- that was just the way it was- the way _she_ was. It was left to Ms Chandler to fend off the rumors, smooth things over with the inconvenienced parties and make grand and glorious promises for future events. Who could say that this sudden unexpected publicity wouldn't benefit them all in the long run? If anyone could manufacture a positive twist to things, it was Sandra Chandler.

Like Oscar Wilde once wisely observed- the only thing worse than being talked about was not being talked about.

Laney was a nervous wreck and not, as most people would be, from worrying about her future. It was Norman, returned from the misty past of childhood shadows with no word of warning, who occupied her thoughts.

_How was it that this could mean so much, now? It was a lifetime ago, without a single word between us in all that time. I thought my letters were ignored; he thought I never wrote. That's a lot of hurt and disappointment for a child to bear, but children being what they are, they heal eventually. Well, usually. _

There was no doubt, in Laney's mind, that she wanted to be with this man for the rest of her life. She had loved the shy, gangly boy, in innocence and with complete trust, and he had loved her much the same. Now there was even the greater need for that simple, honest affection, and with the addition of physical- and sexual- attraction, it was as if the years had never interrupted.

She realized that all her life she had been looking for Norman- some trait, some similarity in every boy or man she'd been attracted to. Her husband had been tall and thin, with dark hair and eyes; the pattern had been set years before by the skinny boy from the motel. She had accepted that she'd never see Norman again, but the memory of that special smile made its way into a book for the world to share. Time had blurred the edges, softened the disappointment, and helped her survive. Now they were together at last, and there was no way she would let him slip away again.

There were too many delays already, and a problem at the airport added to it. Car rental, traffic, every moment of inconvenience made her anxious. She'd promised the police she would be there by early afternoon, but it was Norman she was more concerned about. She finally had the chance to call ahead to the station and let them know she was running late. That was how she learned that he'd left for home.

He was heading there from the hospital when she called the house. No one picked up and she was reluctant to leave a message. After a moment's pause following the beep, she threw caution to the wind.

"Norman? Are you there? It's Laney. The police told that you went home." No one picked up, and by now even his wife was aware of the incident with the authorities. But that didn't necessarily mean the wife knew anything about her. "I'm on my way to the station but running behind- damn airport delays. I just wanted you to know. I'll see you soon." That was enough. No endearments, not on an answering machine! It would be a terribly awkward way to break the news to Connie Bates that her husband had another 'interest'.

The machine clicked off, but had not played to an empty house. Idly a finger moved to delete, but thought instead to play it back once more.

Shortly before noon, Sandy put her cell phone on. She'd opted for a few hours quiet, and was now resigned to looking through her messages and answering those she could. Before she had gotten past the third, the phone rang. With a resigned sigh, she answered.

"Sandra Chandler." she announced in her best businesslike voice.

"Hello-" a feminine voice quickly replied. "Have I reached Ms O'Donnell's representative?"

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"This is Tracy Venable. I'm a reporter for Coastal Reports, among other publications."

_Great. It's starting already. Unless it's about the appearance schedule._

"Yes, Ms. Venable. What can I do for you?"

"I understand Ms O'Donnell has left LA briefly for personal reasons?"

"And will be resuming her book-signing appearances as soon as she returns. The up dates are posted on her website-"

"Yes, I've seen them. Can you tell me, how does she know Norman Bates?"

_What the hell! It's already out?_

"Excuse me? How did you hear-"

"I was close to the last case that sent Bates away a few years ago. I helped break it."

_Please don't tell me you're part of his fan club!_

"What makes you think she's got anything to do with a murderer?"

"Look, anything that happens with Norman is news. Whenever his name pops up on police reports, I hear about it."

"That doesn't tell me why you think Ms O'Donnell's involved-"

"I've got a friend with the PD. And word has it Ms Donnell is headed that way, to provide a statement- an alibi."

"Then maybe you should check at the police station-" _Oh, that was dumb! _"Look, we're hoping to keep this low key. I shouldn't be talking to anyone about it."

"I'd appreciate it if you make an exception in my case. I'd hate to rely on the impressions of a few cops or detectives. Thought I would go to the source and get the facts before rumors start flying."

_Nice ploy, Venable. Talking to reporters sniffing for dirt is never a good idea! _Still, it might help to keep a friendly spin on this. No sense aggravating someone who could retaliate in the press.

"Laney O'Donnell and Norman Bates were childhood friends."

"I see. Long before he went…. bad, I take it?"

"They were kids. And this week, when he found out she was making a personal appearance in Oakland, he decided to look her up. They had dinner and spent the evening reminiscing. Bates was nowhere near home when that woman was killed, and Laney's his witness. This time, he's innocent." _I can't believe I'm defending_ _that geeky psycho._

"I take it you had the pleasure of meeting him?"

"I wouldn't call it a pleasure, exactly. He gave me the creeps, to be honest. And that was before I looked up his history on line."

"And Ms O'Donnell knows about his past?"

"He told her. And I made sure to fill in any other blanks. Out of curiosity, were you surprised that he made the news again?"

"I was more surprised when I heard that he'd gotten married man and has a baby on the way. But if Ms O'Donnell can place him in Oakland at the time of this recent murder, guess he's only made the news by default."

"So since I've answered your questions, would you mind telling me your 'experience' with him?"

Tracy Venable was only too happy to oblige. The incident that landed her some public acclaim had been forgotten as soon as the next new headline came along. She recounted her detective work, concerning the missing Miss Spool, and the unfortunate Maureen Coyle. It seemed a particular point of delight for her to express the opinion that any woman involved with Norman romantically seemed to come to a bad end. Again, mention of his doctor wife, and how interesting it was that she had lasted so long. The implication was not lost on Sandy.

Then followed her attempted rescue of Coyle, too late as it turned out, and her own terrifying experience, being faced with Norman's murderous alter ego, Mrs. Bates. It was clearly pointed out that she survived only by talking Norman 'out' of his mother- hitting him with the truth just in time.

"My God." Sandy gasped into the phone. She hastily scrawled Venable's name down on a piece of scrap paper, to look it up later and verify what was said. "And they _still_ released him?"

"Wonders of modern psychiatric medicine, I suppose. And the woman he married was his doctor. You'd have to assume she knew what she was doing."

"Or she's just as crazy." Sandy twisted uncomfortably, more afraid for Laney now then she had been when she'd discovered the truth about Bates. "I suppose I don't have to tell you, it's all pretty upsetting."

"Well, I doubt Ms O'Donnell has anything to worry about. I mean, Norman's a family man now, as ridiculous as it sounds. He's not looking for love anymore. And the fact that this is one killing he can't be blamed for."

"I think you can appreciate our desire to keep her name out of the papers." _As if any reporter with a _history_ like yours is going to be careful on our behalf! _"I suppose it will be a matter of record in the police reports, and something will eventually leak out-"

"I understand your concern, but I don't think any of Ms O'Donnell's loyal readers ever pick up a newspaper."

_Maybe not, but the parents who buy the books for those loyal readers certainly do!_

"So you'll be following the story?"

"Like I said, Norman Bates is always news. I'll get over to the police station, see if he'll talk to me, or maybe talk to the detectives working the case. It might make good copy if Norman _wasn't_ the killer for once."

They ended the call cordially enough, Sandy being that much more disgusted with the situation. She'd spoken to someone who had encountered the devil and survived. There wasn't much sympathy for Norman in the retelling- clearly he was just as frightening as an innocent man as he was a knife wielding maniac. She had reason to distrust this Venable woman- after all, she was a reporter and quite dedicated apparently. If Laney made 'good copy', she'd be all over the news.

Tracy Venable was particularly pleased; not that Norman had an alibi and was off the hook, but because Sandra Chandler had explained away some questions. Maybe interviewing Laney O'Donnell about something other than her books would make some interesting reading after all….


	21. Chapter 21

Shattered 21

He could be excused for speeding, just this once.

Norman reached home from the hospital in record time, slowing down only as he turned into his street. There were still police cars and homicide vans in front of Mrs. Harrison's house, with yellow police tape marking off the area. He eased the car around an unmarked vehicle that was partially blocking the driveway, and finally came to a halt in front of the closed garage. For a moment he sat and stared at the few strangers milling around the edge of his property. Most wore jackets and shirts emblazoned with the letters of their specific departments, and had certainly noticed his arrival.

_Poor Mrs. Harrison. _The morbid reality struck home, and trying not to appear in too much of a hurry, Norman climbed out and took a suitcase from the trunk.

"Norman Bates?"

The voice startled him, and he turned to see a tall young man who looked as if he had just stepped from some CSI TV show.

"Yes?" He managed that without a stammer, but his gut was already startong to churn. The man smiled and produced a badge.

"They told us you were on your way home. I'm Ted Carlton, with the crime lab."

Norman just looked at him, confused. What was he supposed to say? The man sensed the dilemma and nodded.

"We're still working at Mrs. Harrison's house. But I was to ask if you were alright. Do you want someone to go in with you?"

"G-go in with m-me?" _Keep smiling, Carlton. I know I sound pathetic! But I really just want to get in so I can get out-_

"They were concerned at headquarters. You've been under a lot of stress, and thought maybe, once you got here, the sights and commotion might be unnerving."

Norman forced a smile of his own.

"No, sir, I'm a-alright. Nice of everyone to be c-concerned. I'm j-just here to sh-shower and c-change." He cleared his throat and reminded himself that Laney was only an hour away. "I'll be p-picking up a few things and th-then I'll be on m-my way." _For good!_

"We'll try not to bother you. But if you feel ill or need anything, just give a holler."

"Alright, th-thank you."

Carlton watched as Norman turned and walked toward the door. He'd never met Norman Bates before, though like the rest of them, had been well aware of his reputation. Bates seemed like an awkward, nervous marionette of a man, uncomfortable in his own skin. _Well, with that past, who wouldn't be? _It washard to picture him as someone who could kill and elude the police for years, right under their noses. Once the door closed and Bates was out of sight, Carlton returned to his van, and radioed in that their former suspect and local celebrity had arrived safely.

Norman leaned against the door and sighed in relief. The house was quiet and showed little indication that paramedics had rushed to Connie's aid there in the living room. There were one or two discarded wrappers of some medical supplies on the floor, but he gave them no notice. For the time being he was on 'neutral' ground; the house had once been his home, and was again harmless, in Connie's absence.

_Don't think about her. Don't even think about what happened to Mrs. Harrison._

Fighting off unpleasant thoughts, Norman concentrated on his own business, and immediate future. The suitcase was tossed on the living room couch and popped open. He fished out clean clothes, and kicked off his shoes. Then he grabbed up his travel kit, and quickly padded off to the bathroom. He never glanced into the other rooms, or even at the answering machine; he would have found no messages for him in any event. His mind was busy with thoughts of what he still needed to find in the den to pack in the car.

He dropped most of his clothes on the floor, and shaved in front of the mirror- for once not disappointed in the face that looked back at him. It was happy, with eyes bright, and full of hope. It came as no surprise when he found himself singing. Nothing in the world was going to thwart his mood.

He wasn't singing especially loud, but it was enough for someone else in the house to hear.

Someone who had been hiding in the master bathroom. Someone who was suddenly and instantly elated to hear that masculine voice raised in song down the hall.

_Oh this is too perfect! Couldn't have been planned better! _Jason Petrie moved to the bathroom window and eased the curtain aside with the point of his knife- just far enough to see the cops around the murder house next door. _Only a few yards away- right next to you, you idiots! _It might not have been what he'd originally intended; offing the neighbor had been on the agenda, of course, but then there should have been that miserable bitch, 'Dr. Connie'- and a nice little frame up for poor old Norman. _Would have loved to orchestrate your suicide, Bates. But looks like the Fates had something more in mind- along the lines of poetic justice. How about a little stroll down Memory Lane?_

Laney O'Donnell had made better time in the end, arriving at the police station just after noon. There were reporters in the lobby, largely unaware of who she was. The clerk was quick to let her in and usher her to a private room. Two uniformed officers and a detective there introduced themselves. Normally careful to remember names, Laney forgot there almost instantly. She could only think of Norman, but when she asked to see him, she was told he was at home and would probably be back before long. In the meantime, she'd be only too happy to give her statement and verify Norman's innocence once and for all.

She'd just missed Tracy Venable. The reporter had arrived at the station ahead of Ms O'Donnell, learned that Norman had returned home, and so she promptly headed out again. Tracy thought it might be easier getting to her 'old acquaintance' away from police headquarters. They might object to her line of questioning, and just maybe Norman would enjoy the opportunity to talk about his famous writer friend.

Norman was in excellent voice. He even smiled at his clean shaven face before turning to the shower. He reached in to regulate the water the way he liked it- and no fear of anyone complaining he was using all the hot water! Before stepping into the tub, he paused and closed the bathroom door out of habit. Finally he stepped into the hard jet spray, to wash off all the dirt of the last 24 hours- and 24 months.

Petrie stood in the open bedroom door now, musing over how much of a loser Norman Bates really was. _He's alone in the house and he shuts the door! _He'd been harboring a dislike for Norman since day one. Not just because the scrawny creep had a bigger body count to his credit, or because he was taller, or even a better liar- _Yeh, you'd have to be, to have all those doctors think you're cured, you little freak-_ Norman had always avoided him, spurned his attempts at 'friendship', and acted like he was something and someone better then the other inmates- or at least this was how Petrie saw it. And once Norman was on the scene, suddenly Jason was no longer 'Dr. Connie's' star patient. He practically had that woman eating out of his hand before Bates showed up. This happy home, wife and freedom should have been _his._ He could have snowed and manipulated that bitch into believing anything. Then this old creep comes along and the game changes. It had taken another two years and some sharp legal wrangling, a new lawyer and more lies, but he managed. Now there was a private score to settle, and a few more bodies to tally up.

It was a simple plan, really. He'd been mulling it over since he got into the house hours ago. The police didn't bother checking his credentials- or the back of the handyman's van he'd 'commandeered' and parked half a block away. If they had, they would have found the former owner/operator in one of his own black trash bags back there. Jason had been too chatty and obvious to make them suspicious. And who suspects a handyman investigating the doors and screens of an empty house, in plain sight?

The shower was running now, and the singing continued. There was no way Norman would be able to hear anyone in the house, but his uninvited guest crept along the hall slowly and quietly just the same. He wanted to savor the moment, and seemed to be changed into something invisible- something other than a man. He felt about to burst from the tension and excitement welling inside, confident that whatever evil that had once possessed Norman Bates to commit his crimes, it was nothing compared to Jason Petrie.

_The only thing that could ice the cake would be turning this into a suicide! Or having your darling Connie present to witness your grand exit- prior to her own, of course. Or would it be better to have that the other way around? Hope you aren't enough of an asshole to lock the bathroom door!_

No, he hadn't locked it.

The door pushed open, slow and easy. The steam added a certain amount surrealism to the scene, with the shower curtain muting the view of a tall man singing away as he washed. Petrie paused again. _One last long look at the final moments in the life of Norman Bates. Was this what you saw, what you felt, when you made that kill? Pretending to be your mother, outraged at that piece of ass that turned you on? Did you even recognize it as a woman? Of course not. It was a delicious meal ripe for the carving._

The stalker had the upper hand- and a sizeable piece of cutlery in it to keep it that way. A blitz attack was always the most effective- even Norman must know that. But it was even more important to enjoy the fear- the terror that came with the realization of what was happening, and who it was that had come to deliver this final justice.

When the curtain was drawn back suddenly, there was a gasp of horror. The song ended, and Norman fell back hard against the wall- hard enough to crack the tiles. The cold glint of an upraised blade, the glare of the vicious and gleeful animal eyes behind it- and the chilling smile that hissed the briefest of greetings.

"Hello, Norman."


	22. Chapter 22

Shattered 22

Laney's statement more than satisfied the requirements for Norman's alibi. She had spent half an hour answering questions, stating the facts as plainly as she could, and only briefly mentioning that he had not left her side until early morning, without giving details. She was not so concerned with sounding like a home-wrecker in the eyes of the police- more that it would cause them to further reflect on the quality of Norman's character.

"When I failed to answer my phone, Sandra Chandler, my publicist, sent the police and a security guard around." She volunteered the information without telling them she and Norman were in bed at the time. "They could vouch for his presence in Oakland, too. If that's necessary."

She was offered a cup of coffee while waiting for the transcriptionist to make a written copy of the recording. She'd need to sign it and then could be on her way. Still, she made more then one inquiry throughout that time, as to whether or not Norman had arrived back yet.

Suddenly, there was chaos.

The call came to headquarters that there had been an incident at the Bates house, with the address given in confirmation. Detectives and other personnel were required at the scene immediately- and a well meaning officer foolishly announced all this within hearing of Ms O'Donnell.

"Coroner's en route." someone assured.

Laney froze, and a detective grabbed her for fear she would collapse.

_No, no! This can't be happening! Not Norman!_

"Get Dr. Darrin in here!" the detective shouted to a passing uniform.

"No, I'm going with you!" she heard herself argue.

"Ms O'Donnell, that isn't possible-" the detective insisted. "It's a crime scene-"

"Then I'll go myself!"

She pulled free of the man's hold, grabbed up her purse and dashed for the door before anyone could stop her. She recited the address in her head, and followed as best she could with the police cars streaming to the same destination.

"God, let it be a mistake! Let them be wrong! Oh God, please- not Norman! Please!" She cried and prayed as she drove, barely managing to keep her car on the road. When she arrived on the street, she pulled into someone's driveway and ran across the lawns in the direction of all the activity. The neighbors were lining up, the police keeping them back- and a stretcher carrying a sealed body bag was being rolled to the coroner's truck.

"God no!" Laney screamed and pushed through the line of uniformed officers. "Norman!"

"Laney?"

A detective seized her before she could reach the stretcher, but it had been the voice that stopped her. Again, a bit shakily, it called.

"Laney?"

The detective tried to pull her away, but she managed to turn, to face the house. Her heart soared, to see Norman, surrounded by paramedics, sitting on the front steps. He pushed aside the helpful hands and tried to rise, but they held him back and continued to tend his injuries. Laney tore free from the well meaning arms that restrained her and ran to drop to her knees in the grass by the steps.

"Oh Norman! You're alright!"

He reached for her with one hand, and they locked fingers while the medical crew tried to work. He was scraped and bloodied, wrapped in nothing but blankets, and smiling broadly despite the pain.

"You came! I knew you'd come!"

She was laughing and crying at the same time, as the technicians tried to ease her back.

"Please, miss." they insisted as politely as possible. "He's been injured- we have to get him to the hospital."

"My God, Norman- what happened?"

The lovers would not be parted; they held fast to each other's hands while the paramedics worked. Soon they were both smiling through tears, and on the way to the hospital in the ambulance together.

Gradually, Laney learned the story.

The dead man was Jason Petrie, with a murderous and unrepentant history that made Norman's past look like child's play. It was Petrie that had killed Mrs. Harrison, as part of a vendetta against Norman and Connie Bates. He'd been waiting in the house for either of this next victims to return, and had attacked Norman in the shower. The irony of this was not lost on most of the investigators.

Norman had been surprised, but not over powered. He had suffered knife wounds and slashes to his arms and side in an effort to defend himself. Fighting for his life gave him the energy to lunge for the weapon, grab his assailant and send them both across the room and crashing into the mirror. Petrie was cut badly, including a deep wound across his neck. It severed an artery, but he would not give up. Meanwhile, a certain female reporter, talking to an officer just outside the front door, heard the noise and breaking glass. Within seconds the police had barged in, to find Norman crouched on hands and knees and a screaming Petrie struggling to find a weapon in the shards. Norman tried to push him away, the pair of them slick with blood and the shower still roaring its steam to mask the horror.

Norman was saved, wrapped in blankets and still able to walk. Petrie, rapidly bleeding out, was easily subdued. He was dead before the call could be sent to headquarters.

Laney sat beside Norman's bed in the emergency room, still holding his hand. The doctor's explained that his wounds were largely superficial, and not life threatening, thankfully. After a few stitches and a night of observation he would be ready to leave at last.

SIX MONTHS LATER

Laney had slept late. It was a luxury she had seldom been able to enjoy for years, and that she still felt wonderfully guilty about. It seemed long nights with Norman encouraged such indulgence. The sun was up, shining brightly through the bedroom windows, and almost sheepishly she slipped into her robe and made her way to the kitchen.

The smell of fresh coffee teased her senses, and a note on the counter by her waiting mug attracted her attention. It was a drawing of a big heart, with two stick figures inside, smiling and holding hands. 'Good morning!' was written across the bottom.

The day's mail lay scattered on the table, with one piece in particular propped up against the sugar bowl. Norman had left it there purposely for her to see. It was from his lawyer, announcing that his divorce was final, and containing certain stipulations forbidding future contact with his former wife and infant son. Laney felt a little sad that the child would never have a chance to know what a wonderful man his father was. However, she supported Norman 100% in his desire to keep that part of his life forever separate and forgotten.

Taking her coffee mug in both hands, Laney stepped to the open sliding door, where she could hear a dog barking. She could see the beach from there, and smiled at the sight of Norman and their dog Roxy chasing sticks- and each other- in the sand. She couldn't have written a happier ending to the story herself. She wandered out onto the deck, and was immediately spotted by her lover. He waved an arm overhead and shouted.

"Hello, sleepyhead!"

Within moments he was bounding up the steps, with Roxy running past and into the house without even a glance. Laney hardly had time to set her coffee down, before Norman swept her up in his arms.

"Good morning, you!" He greeted with an exuberant hug and kisses. She giggled and kissed him back, just like every morning. It still hadn't gotten old, and she hoped it never would. "Did you see my mail?"

"Really, Norman, I don't read your mail." she teased. "But today I couldn't help but notice…."

"Oh, I love you. And now I'm going to marry you, and prove it!"

"Are you? Without consulting me?"

Norman released her suddenly, dropped to one knee and held her hands in his.

"Laney O'Donnell, will you marry me?"

"Hmmmm. Let me think about it. YES!"

Soon he was embracing her again, standing snug behind her and looking out over the ocean, his head resting on hers.

"I love it here. And I want to stay here forever, with you."

"I think that could be arranged." She smiled as he kissed her hair. "But where ever we are together, it's home."

END


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